Aeliniel
by sonsofforgottenkings
Summary: After spending an age in slumber, Amera, called Aeliniel by the kings of old, awakens to find the world she once knew all but faded. Now, as a line once thought broken is restored and the threat of Mordor rises in the East, she must determine what her fate will be as the battle for Middle-earth begins and The Fellowship of the Ring sets forth.
1. Prologue

"It just isn't fair," Sam grumbled darkly, tugging lightly on Bill's reins as they made their way up the hillside.

Aragorn took note that Merry rolled his eyes. It had been a peaceful journey eastward thus far. Long periods of silent trekking through grassy plains and over rocky hillsides marked with the occasional remark or retort from one of the hobbits. They were slow but faster than he had expected, much to Aragorn's relief. It had taken them the better of two days to understand the weight of all that was suddenly put upon their shoulders, the force of the evil that hunted them. It saddened him that they had had to realize such at all.

"All sorts of foul things just poppin' out," Sam continued, sighing in frustration, "Hoping to get back that Ring and come after such as us."

Aragorn looked over his shoulder then, choosing to finally speak. "For all your enemies, Master Gamgee, there are many who will also aid you. That is why we go to Rivendell. Elrond and his folk will shelter you there."

"Yes!" Pippin spoke up excitedly. "The elves'll help Frodo!"

Sam agreed with a small nod, still rather undecided about the entire thing. "Well, I'm glad for that, very much so, but still, I'd like a few things of legend and lore to help us out!"

Aragorn perked a brow. "Legend and lore?"

He turned a faint shade of red, "I…well…you know, all these things showin' up after centuries. That ring, those…those things, back at the Pony. Why is it that all the ancient things seem so out to get us?"

Merry snorted from aside him. "Gandalf's ancient. You're forgetting about him."

"Not all that has kept from walking the earth wishes you harm," Aragorn replied softly, keeping pace to encourage them along, "Much of legend once aided the Free Peoples and sought to bring peace to Middle-earth."

"Like what?" Pippin tilted his head slightly, sticking his hands in his pockets and bounding over a log with remarkable agility. "I suppose you know we Shire-folk don't keep the same tales as whatever you are." Merry delivered a swift elbow to his ribs for that, but Aragorn shrugged, uncaring.

"We have many stories," He remarked after a moment of thought, "My people, about what once was." Aragorn ran a tongue over his lower lip, setting his jaw as he continued making his way up the rocky hillside. "Long ago, there was one who guarded the ancient city of kings, called Annuminas, on the shores of a great lake. It's said she was of the lake herself and from there did she draw her strength. As the kingdom of Arthedain fell into decay and the city abandoned, she remained there as a guardian, as a reminder of what had been and could be again. It's said she aided the kings of Arthedain, took up a blade alongside them as the threat of Angmar grew in the North." He looked over his shoulder towards the halflings. All but Frodo appeared confused and he realized he had spoken too much of what they did not know.

"What happened to her?" Frodo continued and Aragorn spied the curiosity in his bright eyes.

"No one knows," He said, "After the last king of Gondor fell, she was never heard from again. Some say she'll return one day to restore glory to Annuminas, others say she died long ago. Either way, it makes for a good tale for children." The last sentence rang hollow on his tongue.

"And what do you think?" Pippin inquired boldly.

Aragorn shrugged, voice growing quieter. "It makes no difference what I think." Pippin huffed at that and Aragorn sighed, amending his reply. "If she were to return, gladly would her aid be accepted. The Free Peoples are in need of whatever allies they can muster."

"You said the last king of Gondor," Frodo spoke up once more. He was quick, Aragorn had noticed, recognizing what details his companions oft overlooked. "Does Gondor no longer have a king?"

He did not say anything at that. It made him uncomfortable, talk of such, and he regretted bringing the tale of the _Aeliniel _at all. Still, he nodded and replied very quietly, more solemnly than he had intended, "That line was not broken.

And then, across the thick forests of the Trollshaws and over the snowy peaks of the Misty Mountains and deep in the heart of Fangorn Forest, something that had slumbered for an age beneath the mossy branches and green leaves, stirred.


	2. Chapter 1

"_My lord, do not be a fool!"_

"_And instead you ask me to be a coward? Is that what you would have me do?"_

"_I would have you __**reason.**__ This…this is naught but folly."_

"_I will not disgrace my people by giving them a coward for a king."_

"_Your people would prefer to have a cowardly king than none at all!"_

"_I can end this! Once and for all!"_

"_Do not do this, my king."_

"_My people deserve a victory and so shall I give it to them."_

"_Earnur, __**please**__." _

"_Until next we meet, Aeliniel."_

It was not often Gandalf felt young, yet he felt near a child beneath the thick boughs of Fangorn. The moonlight streamed through the ancient branches and lit the forest floor before him, shadows dancing atop the earth as clouds lazily filtered through the night sky. It was ancient, Fangorn, and it seemed to him one of the few things unchanged since first he had stepped onto Middle-earth. He knew, however, frowning as he silently trod forward over the twisted roots, that it would not remain so long for, not if Saruman had his way and his devices. It had pained him to see the corruption that had so poisoned his mentor, to see the lust for power in his former friend's eyes. Yes, much was changing in Middle-earth, Gandalf knew as he continued further and further towards the thick of the forest, and not all of it for the better.

He reminded himself to be cautious as he grew closer and closer to the heart of Fangorn, glancing briefly over his shoulder to try and catch sight of the eagle lord's proud form, but the trees had swallowed him up long ago. As they had soared through the night away from Isengard and Saruman, Gwaihir had spoken of something in the forest, something that had not been there before, told to him by the swallows and birds that dared fly above the forest for none would enter the ancient groves. It was in the heart of the forest, they had chirped to their lord and so he had explained to Gandalf, something was there, something that was _old._

Gwaihir had managed to land in a small clearing, the tips of his proud wings brushing against the branches as Gandalf, exhausted and filthy, had slid from his back onto the thick moss. Each step reminding him of how badly he needed rest, Gandalf nonetheless continued forward, calloused fingers clutching his staff in preparation. He searched his mind and his memory as he grew closer and closer to the heart of Fangorn, searching for some shred of lore, some piece of history that could give him hint as to what awaited him. _It is older than you_, Gwaihir had rumbled, _it is older than much. I can feel it in my wings and in my bones when I fly over the forest. Can you not, Mithrandir, feel it?_

And it was true, Gandalf could not help but notice, finally stepping into the clearing. The air was different here, the silence of a different sort. Holding his staff close and at the ready, his sharp eyes narrowed as he scanned the mossy floor, he treaded forward. It appeared the same as the rest of Fangorn, shadowed save for what pale light slipped through the ancient leaves and painted the twisted roots that covered the forest floor. He stood for a long moment and saw nothing.

Gandalf sighed, shaking his head with a small grumble and turned to begin the long, tiring tread back to Gwaihir to the south, eager to deliver word of Saruman's betrayal to Elrond and also to rest safe in Imladris. However, he paused as he caught sight of something from the corner of his eyes. Fingers tightened around his staff and he held his breath, taking a silent step forward. There, barely lit by the moonlight, was a shape different from the gnarled branches and roots of the trees, a _form _nestled at the base of one of the old trees.

He froze, eyes slowly trailing over what he had discovered, widening as he realized just what exactly it was. A little smile crept into the corners of Gandalf's lips as he watched the form stir, black hair spilling over slender shoulders and tattered robes. Yes, much was changing in the world, he laughed softly, but some of it was for the better.

The first thing she saw was the stars. Eyes slowly focusing as she lazily blinked the sleep from them, she caught glimpse of the stars overhead. Few were above to pierce through the thick canopy of Fangorn, but her eyes had always been sharp and so she saw them. She stared for a long moment, chest rising and falling and she did nothing but exist, breathing in the chill air and feeling the soft earth beneath her fingers.

Sitting upright, she brushed her hair back from her eyes. Her fingers trembled furiously, as did the rest of her body, she noted, motions slow as if long forgotten and only now remembered. She stared downwards and her eyes widened briefly at the tattered leather covering her.

"It has been long, Aeliniel."

Her head snapped up at the sound of the voice. The word was strange to her, _Aeliniel_, and the top of her tongue moved to form it even as the old man continued, "I had not thought we would meet again."

It was then the confusion hit. Glancing around frantically, clutching the dirt and scrambling backs, she realized she had no idea where she was nor how she had gotten there. A moment later and she realized she did not know even who she was. She knew nothing save that the air was cool against her skin and the earth soft beneath her legs and the voice of the man calming through her sudden terror.

The man moved forward and she moved back, "I will not harm you, _Aeliniel_," There was that word again. He knelt down and she saw the kindness in his eyes, "I swear it to you."

"Where am I?" The words fell from her lips instinctively, soft and smooth even as she trembled, "How did I- I…I know nothing."

He frowned at that, bushy beard twitching around his lips. "I suppose such is to be expected," He finally stated, "But perhaps in time you will come to remember. Until then, I will let you know of all that I can."

"Mithrandir." She blinked, startled at by her own, sudden statement. Swallowing hard, she stared at the man, at the staff in his hands and the grey robes cloaking him. She realized she knew him, but the memory flickered and shifted before she could capture it entirely, light bending over water. "Your name is Mithrandir."

"Indeed," A soft laugh, "It seems you remember something after all! We were friends once, I might say, you and I, and so we still are if you are not opposed to it."

She blinked and he laughed again. "You have been gone a very, very long time, Aeliniel, and for that is your confusion all the greater, and you have returned at quite the time, indeed."

"Aeliniel?" Her tongue ran over her lip, tasting, testing the word. It felt good, familiar somehow. Owned and _right_. "That is my name."

"One of many," Mithrandir held out a weathered hand to her, "You were also partial to Amera, I recall."

For the first time, a little smile played around the corners of her lips, eyes brightening at the recognition. She tried to rise, slender fingers pale against his palm, but her trembling legs betrayed her and she stumbled.

He caught her and before she could issue another word, he lifted her into his arms. Mithrandir, for that was his name, she knew that now, she _remembered_ that, was stronger than she would expect of his age. "I can take you to one who will help you recall all that you have forgotten, Aeliniel," He nodded once, "And will explain all that has passed in your absence, for there is much that has been."

A sudden exhaustion overcame her as she nodded in agreement and she could only murmur, sinking into his arms. "My name is Amera." Her eyes slowly closed and she found she did not have the energy to fight against the heaviness of her eyelids. The last thing she saw was a small smile upon Mithrandir's lips, his eyes warm and familiar, and then she knew nothing more.


	3. Memories

_It was raining. The droplets were gentle and cool and she smiled as they trailed over her ears and mouth and nose. Amera loved the city most when it rained, just as this. It seemed cleaner to her, fresher somehow, purer for the water puddling in the cracked marble and tip tapping off of crumbled roofs. The mist rose in the distance from the lake but the sun could not yet pierce, not just, for a bit longer, and the city was blanketed beneath a pale mantle. She smiled and closed her eyes, breathing in the cool of the morning. Home. This was home. Silent and pure and peaceful. _

_Her bare feet are cool against the wet tile of the city streets and her fingertips glide over the ancient stone. There were stories in the stone. There were dreams and whispers and memories and sometimes the stones spoke when she slept. They would murmur to her and she would listen. Sometimes, she dreamt of what she had never seen, of streets filled with grey eyed lords, tall and noble. The city once had rung with laughter and the calls of merchants and the sounds of life, of living, but she had never known that. It was a silent city to her, an empty one. A relic to maintained and guarded, but it was her duty and for that, she smiled at the silence. _

The first thing she heard was the soft chirping of a distant bird, its gentle song soothing. Then, the melodious twinkling of distant chimes carried their way to her as she slowly grew more conscious of her breathing and, finally, the smooth silk of the sheets that enveloped her. A gentle breeze brushed against her bare shoulders, chilling her, and she moved to curl further beneath the sheets.

Then, without warning, the deep aches resting within her bones and muscles made their presence known and Amera groaned loudly, biting her lip as she struggled to find a comfortable position. Her back felt as though a whip had slashed it open, fire gliding across her shoulder blades in distinct lines and patterns. Gasping now, she sat up and shifted, to move in such a way as to quell the sudden pain, but found no comfort. However, after a few minutes of genuine discomfort, the pain began to fade and through confused by it, Amera decided it was altogether tolerable.

She attempted to stretch her aching body and winced at the response, but carefully made her way across the room as she eyed a pitcher and small plate of fruit. Amera began to search for a glass but quickly gave up and tilted her head back, placing the pitcher to her lips and drinking deeply. The water was icy enough to take her breath away as it soothed her raw throat and she began to choke, spluttering and coughing as she set the pitcher down. Taking a deep breath, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and viciously tore into an apple, closing her eyes in rapture as her stomach was slowly appeased.

It was no more than an apple but to her it seemed the most delicious thing she had ever tasted of, sweet and crunchy and cool. It was gone in a few moments and she put the core down on the table, taking pause to glance down at herself. Dressed in a simple shift, Amera was pleased to find she appeared clean, though her fingers caught briefly on a few tangles as she ran them through her hair.

Wherever she was, Amera knew as she took the time to look over her surroundings, it seemed she was safe. The afternoon sun streamed through the open window and warmed the tiles beneath her bare feet, bathing the room in a rich gold. Her keen ears heard the sound of rushing water and she moved the balcony before she knew was doing, heart soaring. Searching for the source, she found herself smiling as her gaze fell upon the stream lazily making its way far below her, pure water rippling over stones and against green banks. A voice in the back of her mind suddenly whispered that this was Imladris, home of Elrond Halfelven. Amera did not know how she knew this but knew it somehow to be true. She wondered briefly how much more she knew, how many other memories were kept from her, swallowed by the mist that had clouded her mind since her waking.

"I am glad to see you are awake." Amera flinched despite the softness of the voice. "We had thoughT to wake you, but decided it best you receive what rest was needed." Before her stood one of the first born, his golden hair streaming over lithe shoulders that she recognized as belonging to a warrior. She knew all his kindred to be fair but this elf appeared lordly to her, beautiful and strong and wise and she bowed her head upon instinct, feeling lowly before him.

He laughed after a moment, a smile appearing upon his features and Amera found she recognized him. It was not a recollection of fact, as it had been with Imladris, for she knew she had never been here before and perhaps had only read, had been told of the last Homely House, but Amera knew that she had met the elf before. "You do not remember me." It was a statement, not a question. "Worry not, Amera Dagorwen, I had been told perhaps you would not and such is no offense. If Mithrandir has spoken true, it seems much of your memory has escaped you."

Dagorwen. _Battle, _her mind whispered, _it means maiden of battle just as Aeliniel means lake daughter. You are both and you are more. _She swallowed hard as the elf continued, his eyes gentle, "You are in Rivendell, the household of Elrond Halfeven, and here you shall be safe. Much safer than Fangorn, from whence Gandalf told me he found you. You have been asleep a long time and these past three days we had feared you would not wake at all, so I am glad to see you up and moving."

Amera blinked, "Three days?"

"Yes," He laughed softly and the sound comforted her, "But such is a short time indeed, given how long you were gone."

_Glorfindel._ The name suddenly sprung to her lips, nudged there by her mind, "I remember little, G…Glorfindel, and for that I hope I have recalled your name correctly, for I cannot recall our meeting." Amera bit down on her lip, almost embarrassed by the situation. "I can barely remember my name, much less what…what others have called me."

"You remember my name, however," He gave a gentle smile, "And that is a start worthy of praise. We fought beside each other once, long ago, and you fought well."" Glorfindel paused and she saw sorrow flicker in his bright eyes, a deep sadness, "Much has happened in your absence, Amera."

Her absence. Amera sighed, running her tongue over her bottom lip and preparing herself, all at once afraid and eager to hear the answer she had been seeking, "And for how long was I…I _absent_, Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel was silent for a long moment and Amera thought she saw the sadness in his eyes turn to pity. "A thousand years, Amera."

Glorfindel watched as her ivory face turned a deathly pale, her jaw setting so hard he could see the veins in her neck twitch. She said nothing. It did not surprise him, her silence, for what did once say when confronted with a past forgotten. He noticed she did not question him, however, standing resolute but silent. Rising after a moment, Glorfindel inclined his head towards her, gesturing towards the door. "I have something I was bid to show you, Amera," He said softly, "If you mind it not. My lord thinks perhaps it will be of some aid to you, to your memory."

She stepped forward immediately and he smiled at her eagerness. Yes, Amera wanted to remember, needed to, judging by the desperation that flickered in her pale eyes. "There are robes for you in the dresser and should you need anything else, it will be provided. You are welcome here, Amera Aeliniel, both as friend to Elrond Halfelven and to the Free Peoples," Glorfindel looked once more over his shoulder as he shut the door behind him, "And so also unto me."

He waited outside and she appeared a few minutes later, clad in simple, blue robes. She had not tied her hair back. Unable to meet his gaze in a display of shyness that surprised him, Amera nodded to let him know she was ready. He led her onwards through the winding halls of the last Homely House, beneath the intricate arches and through the marbled courtyards. Casting a quick glance at her from the corner of his eye, he noted that her feet were bare despite the boots that had been laid out for her. She must have often gone without shoes, Glorfindel determined as he led her onwards, for there was no reason she needed them. He bit the inside of his lip to hide a smile at the thought, knowing that she was acting out of habit without fully realizing it herself.

She did not say a word under they arrived at the doors of the library, her brow furrowing as she remarked softly, "Books?"

"Yes," Glorfindel laughed quietly and ushered her in. Watching her gaze travel over the stacks and stacks of tomes, over the ancient wood that housed them and the flickers of dust that glittered in the afternoon sun, he could see she was curious now. The initial fear she had first displayed was faded, the confusion dulling her bright eyes quelled by sparks of curiosity, of wonder as she slowly turned, taking in the levels of the library.

"I once had a library," Amera added quietly, "Or I suppose I watched over one, rather, but I did read."

"The library of Annuminas was a wonder of the West," Glorfindel continued, seeing her head snap towards him as the mention of her city, "Equal to none save this." He strode silently across the tiled floor, running his hand over the dusty spines of line of books before he paused. Withdrawing it, he set it down upon a table and Amera was beside him in a moment.

He delicately flipped through a few pages, certain that this was the one Elrond had spoken of, and sure enough he paused soon after. There, cast in the soft light streaming from the windows above, was a picture upon the faded parchment. A woman stood ankle deep in water, head lowered and eyes closed. Black hair fell over her shoulders in waves, her skin pale against its hue and the dark blue of her gown. She was slender and tall, appearing as fair as one of his own kindred upon first glance, but even in the simple portrait that was something different about her, something that distinguished her.

Amera drew a small breath beside him and he saw that she knew, a trembling finger reaching down to brush over the sworn clasped between the woman's hands, pointing towards the waters beneath and around her. Before he could say anything, Amera turned the page nearly frantically then turned it again, pausing upon the next picture. Atop a white horse was a handsome man, clad in shining armor and bearing a circlet upon his noble brow. A sword was raised in his hand, a proud, confident grin brightening his features. In the background of the picture was a city, pale and green and dark all at once, and Glorfindel remained silent as a tear suddenly wetted the parchment.

He turned to look to her fully and saw the tears in her eyes. Her jaw was set so firmly the veins in her slender neck twitched, her hands trembling fiercely at her sides as she stared at the page. Drawing in a small breath, Amera ran her tongue over her lower lip and Glorfindel knew it must be paining her to relive her memories once more, because with the years of comfort and peace came the memories of Earnur, of countless kings who had lived and aged and died before her eyes, of the storm clouds that had brewed over Angmar and of the mace that had cut into her back and the scars that had never and would never heal.

Glorfindel watched without a word as the fear faded fully from her, the anxiety flickering into sorrow and knowing. Her back straightened and her expression steeled, those eyes that shimmered and flickered like water filled with a thousand, thousand memories. Her hands curled slightly and he wondered if she was imagining the feel of leather against her fingertips, the grip of a hilt against her palms.

Finally, she spoke and when she did, it was not the voice of the scared woman who had stuttered and lowered her gaze before him, it was the voice of one who remembered and knew and understood. "Glorfindel," Amera said softly, meeting his gaze, her own eyes still tearful, "I remember."

His smile was sad despite his best attempt otherwise. "I am glad."

Amera looked back once more the book, to the figure of Earnur painted against the page and to Minas Morgul looming like a shadow behind him. Glorfindel watched her swallow hard and draw in a little breath before nodding, voice firm with gentle determination, "Tell me everything."


	4. An Understanding

Her head ached and for all her years of slumber, Amera found she desired nothing more than to crawl beneath a blanket and rest until the aches in her bones and in her head and in her heart faded. However, such was a luxury she would not afford to herself, not even for her weariness. Glorfindel had given her a few minutes alone upon her request and she had found herself nearly collapsing with the weight of the memories that flooded over her. It had taken only a few pages, a few simple drawings to trigger what had been hidden from her but she had looked.

And she remembered.

Images of stone, water, earth and blood swept through her and stole her breath away. She remembered the sound of rain against crumbling marble and the chill of mist against her skin and the warmth of the rising sun. She remembered flashes of faces and the glimmer of grey eyes, crowned brows and bright swords. A thousand years of memory all at once. It was so much and it was too much.

Amera had lowered herself onto the floor, shaking violently all the while as she drew her knees to her chest. Roughly pushing back her hair with her hands, her eyes wide, she had gasped for breath as her mind absorbed a thousand years of recollection in only a few moments. There was pain there too for all the joy she remembered and she felt the hot prick of tears. Yes, there was happiness, but there was also loneliness and sorrow, regret and hope. It was enough to leave her reeling and she took the few minutes of privacy to try and compose herself as best she could.

Still, for all the emotions flooding through her and setting her limbs to shake, there was still a curiosity in her. Why now? What had caused her to wake and why had it done so? She remembered Mithrandir had found her and he had seemed just as surprised to see her as she had him. They had only met once, very long ago, and it seemed by accident that he had come across her. Amera rose to her feet, drawing a long breath and running a hand through her loose hair to try and remedy the tangles she had caused. She also had met the leader of his order, a wizard who's name she could not recall, but Amera remembered the cold curiosity in his eyes as she had smiled and bid him welcome to the City of Kings, to fair, silent Annuminas. Perhaps he had sent Mithrandir to collect her, perhaps he had been the cause of her reawakening?

There was still more, Amera knew as she smoothed out her robe and rubbed away the remnants of tears from her eyes. There was much more that still flickered in the shadows of her mind, more memories that would reappear with time, but for now she sought to sate her curiosity. She rejoined Glorfindel in the hall a minute later, expression steeled to the best of her ability. She saw the pity in his bright eyes and ignored it, giving a simple nod to show she was alright.

"I would speak to both you and your lord," Amera said softly, "And Mithrandir as well, if he too is within the valley. I remember much and for that I fear I am confused all the more."

"That is well!" Glorfindel laughing, a shining sound. "For so does my lord desire to meet with you, Amera Aeliniel. Many questions, he has, and so also have I. I had not thought to see you again but glad am I for it." He nodded once, his voice growing gentler. "Many will be glad for your return."

He began to walk and she followed aside him, forcing herself to block the flow of memories swirling through her mind, to focus on his words instead of the glimmers of her past. "Much has happened in your absence," Glorfindel continued, "And no doubt Mithrandir or Lord Elrond will be able to give you a more helpful summary than I would." He kept speaking but she found herself distracted by the elves that passed them, for only once had she spent time in the company of the first born and the circumstances that had brought them together had been less than ideal. They were beautiful and fair, much like the elven lord beside her, and there was a wisdom in their eyes where she had only even known pride, there was a coolness, a poise where she was accustomed to fiery passion.

She had been a servant unto the kings of men, not to elven lords.

All were courteous unto her, smiling faintly and politely inclining their heads and it seemed to her they were glad to have her in their fair halls. Amera could tell they knew who, or rather what, she supposed, she was, but not one said a word as Glorfindel led her onwards through the last Homely House until they reached a study. It was outside the doors that he finally paused, turning to her and meeting her pale gaze with his own. "You have been missed, Amera."

She was caught off guard by that. "For what?"

"You were a counselor unto the kings of old. Your wisdom was-"

"I counseled no one." Amera interrupted briskly, her words firm. "Men simply came unto my city and so did I speak to them when they asked it of me. There was never wisdom in my words."

Glorfindel shook his head and she saw the pity once more in his eyes. "You fought the Witch-king of Angmar at Fornost and lived to tell tale of it. You earned a title from my kindred possessed by few not of our race."

"You gave me that title," She paused, glancing downwards with a small tilt of her head, "And I did not fight him and should you wish to say such, I would remind you that I nearly died for it."

"Yet you did not and it was a title rightly earned."

She shifted her weight, drawing a breath, "I picked up that sword because there was nothing else left to fight for, Glorfindel. There is no courage in desperation."

He was silent for a long moment and she felt naked beneath his eyes, like a child before a parent amused. "Is that what you think, Amera?"

"That is what I know."

He did not reply, instead opening the door to the study and moving to allow her entrance. Amera felt his gaze upon her back as she entered into the room, immediately comforted by the stacks of books piled upon the tables and neatly placed into shelves. Mithrandir was sitting, his grey hair even wilder since their last meeting,and beside him stood a dark haired elf, tall and noble in his bearing. Inclining her head and bending lightly at the waist, she caught glimpse of a tired smile from the wizard as Elrond Halfelven, for she knew it was him, placed a hand over his heart in greeting.

"I am honored by and grateful for your hospitality, my lord," She began quietly, "Much had I heard of the beauty of Imladris, but what words fell upon my ears brought no justice unto your lands."

"And honored are we to have you, Aeliniel," Elrond replied, "Though I would wish our meeting be in a happier hour than this."

She paused, running her tongue over her lower lip. "I fear I do not know what hour is upon us, my lord, though from what Lord Glorfindel has hinted at and what now you state, I should think there is much that has passed since last I treaded the West."

"Indeed there has!" Gandalf nodded, resting his hand on his knee. "Though perhaps it best to determine why we are graced with your presence at all, Amera Aeliniel, for many and myself included thought you dead long ago."

Amera was unsure how to reply at first and Elrond took note of her hesitation, motioning for her to sit. A moment later there was a glass of wine before her and she took it gladly, curling her fingers around it. It gave her something to look at as she considered her words. "I…I should be dead, I suppose, or at least still asleep in Fangorn, yet it seems I am not, yet also I see no reason for my wakening. I had thought it perhaps the leader of your order, Mithrandir, who was with you when you came unto Annuminas, but it seems it is not so?"

"No." His face grew hard. "Saruman is no longer an ally unto the Free Peoples nor do I think him capable of awakening you, for you are no object to be summoned at will, Amera." She looked up from the wine at that. "Whatever the reason for your waking, it is one welcome."

"I mean no offense by such, but why?" Amera asked softly but bluntly, "I am no great warrior nor have I your wisdom, Mithrandir," She glanced to Elrond, "Nor have I your skill in healing, my lord. I…I was naught but a caretaker, a reminder."

"We are glad for all allies we can muster, Aeliniel," Elrond interjected, sitting across from her. "The Free Peoples of Middle-earth seek any who would lend them aid and they are fewer than we had wished. Saruman's betrayal is not to be taken likely nor the force of his will to be underestimated. The loss of his alliance is a grievous blow, indeed."

"Betrayal?" Amera remembered Saruman, though only dimly. He had been cold in his wisdom, scornful where Mithrandir had been curious, and she had not been sorry to see him leave Annuminas. "What cause has Saruman betrayed?" She paused once more, her brow furrowing as she tilted her head, eyes darkening as she questioned, "With whom has he chartered an alliance, if not the Free Peoples?"

Mithrandir and Elrond looked at each other, silent for a long moment. Finally, the wizard looked to her, a faint smile playing around the edges of his lips despite the exhaustion in his voice. "It seems your slumber has not dulled your wits, Amera Aeliniel. We may have need of them yet." He sighed and ran a weathered hand through his beard. "Do you know of Isildur's Bane?"

Amera perked a brow, tentatively sipping at her wine to settle her nerves. "The Ring of Power? Yes, perhaps not much, but I have read of it, but what need is there that I should know of a legend?"

"Until a few days ago, you were naught save a legend," Elrond said. She flushed. "Much that was once called legend is now before us, Aeliniel, and just as you are here so also is the Ring."

Amera nearly choked on her wine. "The One Ring? Isildur's Bane?" She suddenly grew very pale, her voice taking on a renewed urgency as she set her glass aside, pressing a slender finger against the table in emphasis. "If that has…has been _found_, then surely Angmar will seek it, if you do not have it already. The Witch-king will-"

"Angmar does not have the power it once did, Amera," Mithrandir interrupted gently, "But the Witch-king now answers to another."

"Another?" She felt the cool wine stain her fingertips as her hands trembled and she clutched the cup until her knuckles ached. A shadow of dread clouded her heart and she found she understood, for all her confusion. "Isildur's Bane has been found and the Witch-king answers unto a master, while one who once was a great ally unto the Free People's seeks the favor of another." Amera swallowed hard, working to temper her voice. "Sauron. Sauron has returned or seeks to, does he not?"

Elrond nodded and she pressed the back of her hand to her lips, closing her eyes as Mithrandir continued, "As he has returned, though his spirit has never truly died, we had thought so you also had returned, that you had chosen to awaken, had sensed this somehow."

Amera shook her head, opening her eyes slowly. "No, I did not awaken of my own choosing. I…," She swallowed hard once more, painfully aware of the flood of memories that surged in her mind, each roll of the tide bringing renewed grief she had no desire to feel once more. "After I left Minas Tirith, I…in my grief, I had said that I had failed in my purpose and so also did I wish to die, for there was no king who might look upon Annuminas and remember his forefathers and from whence he came. That line was," She sighed, closing her eyes and setting her jaw, "Broken and for it, I said I had no place in the world, had no desire to walk it's paths without a king, without one of that line who might once more take up the sceptre of Annuminas and seek to restore the glory of Elendil's city." Amera opened her eyes, her voice void of emotion. "I was selfish in my sorrow."

Elrond was silent at that, but Mithrandir's eyes grew very soft suddenly, a little smile appearing. "It seems, at last, we understand the reason of your return, Aeliniel." He leaned forward and she watched him, confused all the more. "A chieftain of the Dunedain, he is of the Line of Elendil and so he is an heir to the throne of Gondor and your Annuminas."

She found her eyes suddenly filling with tears, words robbed of her in her absolute disbelief. Gandalf smiled at her. "You have a king, Amera."


	5. The Aeliniel

_She gently ran a finger down the length of the glittering sword before her, feeling the curves and angles of runes that spoke of fire and ice glide beneath her fingers. The blade itself was curved slightly in the fashion of the elves, the hilt wrapped in treated leather that had been dyed a dark blue. It was simple compared to the ceremonial swords carried by the guards and councilmen of the city but was beautiful enough to take her breath away. With trembling hands, she slowly wrapped a slender hand around the hilt and felt the precision of the weight in her arm as she lifted it, the pale light of dusk shining against it and seemingly causing it to glow. It was certainly an elven blade, tempered in the forges of Imladris or Mirkwood if her judgment was correct, and was made for a no less than a king._

_Amera looked up to meet the calm, grey eyes of the king, unable to find her voice. He laughed softly, stroking his silver beard as he watched her in amusement. "Shall I assume you find it to your liking, Aeliniel?"_

_"My lord," She gasped, her stormy eyes wide with surprise as they continued to take in the beauty of the sword, "This…this is too much. I cannot accept such as this." She carefully laid it down, lowering her head in respect and moving her hands to smooth out her robe._

_He laughed again, gently taking her chin in his hand as he lifted her gaze to meet hers. "You think far too little of yourself, dear. You have served without complaint and glory in the houses of my fathers and in mine, though no requirement has been made of you. You deserve far more than a simple blade, Aeliniel, but I hope it pleases you."_

_Amera's eyes watered slightly and she blinked rapidly, doing her best to hide how truly touched she was as her fingers traced the runes yet again in awe. Her voice wavered as she replied; a shy grin appearing in the corners of her lips. "It is beautiful, my lord. I...I was certainly not expecting such as this."_

_He smiled at her and for a moment she once again saw the glimmer of youth in his proud, grey eyes, recalling the king before her as the noble young man who had been coroneted on a bright, warm day in what had seemed like such a short time ago. A shot of pain ran through her heart and she hid it, like she always did, as she watched each of the lords of Arthedain grow old before her. Earnil had grown dear to her over the years, treating her as a trusted friend instead of an unnatural ally, as many others had. She would miss him terribly, she thought as she glanced down yet again at the beautiful sword in her hand, his loss would linger on._

_Earnil watched her for a few more moments, then gently kissed the top of her head and smiled kindly at her when she lifted her gaze, his voice soft but strong, "There may come a time when you have need of a blade, Amera, and I would have it be a strong blade, as true as any found in Middle-earth. All the same," He nodded once, "May you never need it. I wish you that."_

_ Amera ran a hand absently through her hair, still feeling the emotions of her dream even as she had slid from her bed and began to dress herself. All night she had been plagued by her memories. They were more vivid when she was sleeping, the emotion as strong as it had been when first she had lived out all she recalled. Because of it, she felt the touch of grief brush her heart and had been her lip, focusing on the bird song outside her room to ward it off. She found a gown that had been laid out for her and slipped out of her shift, pressing her hand to the back of her mouth to stifle a yawn._

_ It was strange to her, her exhaustion, for despite sleeping for a thousand years, she had never been more tired in all her life. By the time she had finished speaking with Mithrandir and Elrond, who had told her that not only had Isildur's Bane been found, but it was with a halfling only a few minutes' walk from her own room, Amera had briefly considered if it would be possible for her to rest for yet another age. She had collapsed into bed upon her leave, struggling to keep straight all she had been told. It was no surprise to her that the Witch-king yet lingered on nor that Arthedain and what all had once been Arnor was in ruin save for a few Dunedain, but still it had pained her greatly to hear it. _

_She sighed heavily, closing her eyes and taking a moment to let the cool silk of her gown settle over her limbs. Amera could only remember wearing a dress as fine as this only once and that time, it had been black and she took no joy to see herself clothed in it. It had been a dress for mourning but this was a dress for a beginning, she told herself fiercely, a dress not for an end. Her fingers moved next to her dark hair. She had always preferred it loose, to feel the faint waves fall over her shoulders and tickle her collarbones, but decided to tie it back in a thick plait. Lastly, she found a small, iron circlet, simple but elegant, placed for her and she slipped it onto her brow. The chill of the metal briefly sent a shiver through her, but a moment later and it was gone._

Aragorn. That was his name. The name of her king. Mithrandir had explained he too was in Imladris, that he had aided the halfling and it had been none other than Glorfindel who had brought the Ringbearer to safety from the Nine. He was a ranger, the wizard had told her as he walked her back to her room far into the night, a chieftain of the remnants of the Dunedain. He had also told her that there were few now who carried the blood of Numenor but she had grinned for it, the first smile to touch her lips since the passing of Earnur long ago.

Aragorn. She rolled the name once more in her mouth as she began to walk towards the courtyard and tried to ignore the sudden nervousness that settled over her. She had known many kings in her life and not all of them had been kind. They were proud, Men, and she knew better than any that men feared what they did not understand. To some, she had been a counselor and a friend, a trusted companion who would listen and speak with all the wisdom she could muster. Yet, to others, she had been useless, a beautiful, empty relic guarding a beautiful, empty city. Still, she reminded herself as she came to the entry way into the beautiful courtyard, no matter what his opinion of her, she would serve as always she had and always she would.

"She has not yet remembered all," Elrond had told him, his hands clasping behind his back as they walked together, "but she remembers enough to know who and what she is. Gandalf has told her of the Ring and of Sauron, but she knows little else of all that has transpired since her leaving." His grey eyes grew somber them and Aragorn remembered they had seemed happier in his youth, had been brighter. "She had asked of the Witch-king's campaign in the North, if Arnor had fallen, Aragorn. Thus far, she has seemed to take all well enough, but a thousand years is a long time, even by the count of my people. I had thought her to be in shock, given how calmly she has reacted, but Gandalf assumes her well enough to meet with you and so I agreed."

Aragorn had been silent for a long moment at that and Elrond sighed, turning to face him. "Once the Aeliniel guarded the city of your forbearers and so also did she serve them, counseled some of them from my understanding and went to battle at their side. I would offer you some counsel, Elessar, but I know not what to say myself. Glorfindel speaks well of her and also does Gandalf, but I had thought it best for you to meet with her yourself." He paused once more then continued, his voice softer and lower than before. "She is old, Aragorn, and yet new to this world and for that, I would bid you be careful."

So it was that Aragorn had arrived at the courtyard, sitting in thought and preparation before he met the creature that had risen from the waters that once ushered in the very ships of Elendil unto Middle-earth. He knew the tales as well as any, for they had been held dear amongst the Dunedain. He ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes and remembering all that he had been told as a child, all the stories shared by him and his kindred around fires bright against the darkness of the wilds. Long ago, when Arnor had been split into three realms and Annuminas abandoned, the king of Arthedain had stood as the last to leave the great fortress, had paused to remember the beauty of the Elendil's city as he passed from it forever. However, as he turned one last time over his shoulder to bid farewell unto Annuminas, a woman had risen from the blue waters of Lake Nenuial. Awed, he had asked her speak and she had said she was a guardian, a watcher sent to protect and preserve the tombs of the kings of old from age and harm and so also to keep Annuminas.

The King then left, eager to tear himself from the city he and his brothers had so loved, to leave behind the streets he had played in as a child and the throne he had once thought to rest upon. The North remained at strife, the three kingdoms clashing and the Witch-king ever seeking to smite the race of Men and so the King forgot about the woman who had been born to bid him farewell. However, Aragorn sighed softly, eyes distant as he sought after the memory of the story, as the King grew old and neared what he knew would be his death, he desired once more to look upon the place of his youth and returned one last time to Annuminas. There, standing as fair and as youthful as when he had left so long ago, was the maiden. He called her Lake Daughter, _Aeliniel _in the tongue of the elves and the old Kingdom, and after his passing, so his son came to visit the city of his forefathers and speak to the Aeliniel and so also his son after him.

There she had waited as king after king came to remember the glory of Arnor, of Elendil and the tombs of the ancient kings who stood proud and shining on the banks of the lake. Some stories said she had also wielded a blade, had been as strong as she was wise, and it seemed that at least was true. Glorfindel had met her at the Battle of Fornost, Elrond had told him, and he had given her the title _Dagorwen_, Maiden of Battle, for her courage. Few earned such a title as that from the elven lord and for that, Aragorn understood Elrond's hesitation and concern. She was an ancient thing, the Aeliniel, older even than the wizards and more oft than not ancient things cared little for the present.

Whatever the stories had claimed, they all held one thing in common. They all ended. After the death of Earnur, his leaving and never returning from Minas Morgul, there came no more tales of the woman who watched over the first City of Kings. Amongst the Dunedain, it was said, though only to children eager for a story, that one day she might return when Men needed her most, that she would return unto the service of a true King bearing the blood of Numenor. That king, Aragorn realized as he lowered his gaze, was him.

He looked up a moment later, aware of another's presence and there, standing silently, was the Aeliniel herself. Aragorn was not sure what he had expected but he found himself taken back by how young the woman appeared. She seemed at first to be one of the Eldar, for she was graced with their fairness and their grace, but as she took a step closer to him, he saw it was not so. There was something untamed to her for all her beauty, something that hinted that she was something different, something wild and feral in her prominent cheekbones and in the brightness of her eyes.

He watched as her eyes widened slightly at the sight of him, her mouth trembling as they simply took each other in. Aragorn moved towards her and she drew in a small breath. Slipping into Sindarin, for he assumed her most comfortable with that tongue, Aragorn stated softly, "It is an honor, my lady." At that, the Aeliniel suddenly bowed, black hair tumbling over her shoulders.

Her voice was soft, a trembling whisper. "I beg you forgive me my emotions, my king, but I… I had thought-"

"There is no need for apology, Aeliniel. No harm has been done." He gently waved a hand to reassure her and when she looked up, their eyes met for the first time. Softened by tears, Aragorn was briefly lost in her pale gaze. Her eyes were a shade of blue he had never seen before, pale and rippling and deep. In them, he could see the waters of Nenuial, silent and pure, and he was reminded that she was a being ancient, something born of water and not of the world.

"Once did I serve the kings of old," the Aeliniel continued quietly, "And I so also am I sworn to serve you."

"Sworn?"

She paused to consider the question, the wind stirring her hair around her pale face. "I was to serve as a reminder to the kings of the West of all that once was and all that could be restored. I have always served, though I took no oath save one to myself, my king."

"My name is Aragorn," He said kindly, "You need not call me king, for I bear no crown."

"If you so desire, my lo-," the Aeliniel corrected herself, clearly testing the word, "Aragorn."

"Have you a name, Aeliniel?"

"I was called Amera," She ran her tongue over her lower lip and he heard distant pain in her voice.

"Is that what you would desire to be called?"

"Whatever you would wish be to be called, Aragorn, so shall it be."

He shook his head and she flinched, her rippling eyes growing dark with worry before he raised a hand. "Amera, I…I would not have you as a servant at my bidding. The blood of those you once called king flows in my veins, yes, but I am no king." Not yet, perhaps not ever, whispered his mind and Aragorn cast the thought away. "You were once a friend unto the Free Peoples, that much the tales tell true, it seems, and Glorfindel has spoken of your wisdom and courage." Amera swallowed hard at that and it seemed she wished to say something, but remained silent all the same. "Do as you would, Amera Aeliniel, for you are no servant unto me, but a friend and a friend to all who desire to rekindle the glory of the West."

Amera was silent for a long moment and he watched her reaction carefully, certain he had upset her, had said the wrong thing. Her face remained completely passive save for the few tears still pooling in her gaze and as the wind stirred her dark hair, he saw sorrow in her features, but also hope. Finally, suddenly, she nodded and closed her eyes, biting on her lower lip to temper her emotions. "As you wish, Aragorn." Amera's eyes opened and very gently, her fingers brushed against the side of his cheek. Her touch was cool, unexpectedly so, and he watched another tear slide down her pale cheek.

She looked at him as no one else had before, as if he was more important than all else in the world, not out of love but out of pure, shining hope. "I had thought all was lost," Amera murmured faintly, "And never again would I walk Middle-earth, but I was wrong." A little smile appeared and as her hand moved to her side, Aragorn found himself stirred by the sincerity in her final words. "Thank you."


	6. Recognition

It was a good sword, Amera decided as she gave it a careful swing, feeling the distribution of the blade's weight course through her arm. One of the sons of Elrond had given it to her upon her request, flashing a warm smile and offering her choice. She had selected a simple blade, slightly curved as was typical of elven make, and Elrohir had said it was an old thing, that sword, but as true and as sharp as ever. She had smiled faintly, looking at her own reflection in the steel. It seemed fitting to her.

He had asked why Glorfindel had sent her in the first, inquiring if she intended to battle another while she remained in the halls of his father. Amera had laughed softly at that, a rare grin twitching in the corners of her lips. It was one of the first times she had felt truly comfortable since she had opened her eyes in Fangorn near a week ago. Everyone she had met was absurdly gracious to her, kinder than she could have imagined, but all the same she felt strange, a relic somehow. Still, it felt good, to remember all that she was and had been.

Amera lowered the blade briefly, setting it aside as she pulled her dark hair back with a strip of cloth. She had managed to find an abandoned hall with far more ease than she had expected. Dwarves, elves and even a few halflings, the ones brought by Aragorn from Bree-town, filled the Last Homely House in preparation for the Council tomorrow. She had kept to herself for the day, had locked herself away in her room and poured over manuscripts and books from Elrond Half-elven's library. She had been asked by the lord himself to attend tomorrow, an invitation that had surprised her, and she was determined to appear as knowledgeable about the state of Middle-earth as any in attendance. What she could not understand, she asked Mithrandir to fill in the spaces between gaps. It was much, too much in truth, and more than once Amera found herself struggling to listen or read on.

Her heart ached with the weight of it all.

She had tried to sleep once night fell. A soft bed and silken sheets invited her but brought her no slumber as she laid there, tossing and turning and dreaming. Amera had eventually sighed and rose, knowing she would find no rest, and reached for the sword granted her. A few minutes later and she had dressed herself in a simple robe, her bare feet padding over the cool, moonlit tiles.

So it was that she picked up the blade once more, contented now that her hair had been pulled away from her eyes. Giving it another small flick around her wrist, she felt the steel slice through the night air, silent and lethal. Amera shifted her stance then, moving and bringing the sword to protect her neck and chest. It felt good, the weight of a sword in her hand, and she began to move quicker as she grew more comfortable. Her muscles, though they had not moved as such for near a thousand years, remembered the motions after a few minutes, how to parry and thrust and _fight_. It felt almost like a dance to her and as the pale moonlight streamed through the open window and illuminated the empty room, it almost seemed like one as she began to move faster and faster.

Amera's pale gaze was briefly reflected to her in the steel of the blade and she allowed the rush of memory to overtake her as she fought invisible enemy after invisible enemy. She remembered the first time she had killed, how her fingers had dug into the shoddy leather of a crude hilt and how they had trembled when they pulled away soaked with blood. She remembered the first time she had practiced with a sword in the courtyard of Gwairband, in the shadow of the Great Library of Annuminas, how stiff, how alien the blade had felt in her slender hand. She remembered the tremor that had shot through her sword as the great blade of the Lord of Angmar fell upon it, the clash of steel that had rung through her ears and into her bones. She remembered battle, the smell of blood thick in the air and the cries of dying men ringing out above the fray. _It is easy to pick up a blade, Amera, _Earnur had told her, _but once it is drawn, you will find it hard to sheathe. _There had been something like pity in his eyes as he had looked at her, the dark clouds of Angmar gathering in the sky above them, sorrow that it had come to this. _Do this, Amera_, he warned her softly, _and you will never have peace. _

Fresh pain tore through her at the memory and she pivoted with a snarl, twirling the blade around her wrist as smooth as water and cutting through the air in a fierce, downwards stroke. However, Amera nearly dropped the sword a moment later, flinching as she saw someone staring at her. She took a swift step back and drew a shaky breath, blinking once and running her wrist over her brow.

"Forgive me," The visitor said quickly, voice deep but humored, "I had meant no interruption nor harm."

Amera looked up with a weak smile, her heart beating furiously within her chest. "That is well, for there was none. You merely startled me; I had not expected an audience."

The man stepped forward, shifting his weight off the pillar he had been leaning against casually. He was tall, strong, and Amera instantly recognized his bearing as that of a warrior's. "You fight well," He nodded towards the sword in her grip, "I had heard of the skill of the elves, but I fear what tales have reached my city do little justice."

She shook her head quickly, setting the blade aside and pushing her fingers through her tousled hair to reveal a curved ear, "I fear I am not one of the first born, friend." Amera laughed. "You are not the first to think so, however."

The man smiled. "Glad am I to meet another of my race then, for few there seem of us in the Last Homely House." He was handsome, his features proud and rugged, yet still hinting at a good nature. Auburn hair fell to his shoulders and she recognized him as a man of Gondor nearly instantly. Amera could not help but think that somehow he looked familiar. They had not met, after all there were no mortal men living that would have known her an age ago, but all the same there was something in his face that hinted at memory, recognition.

She feared her pause too long, her gaze too intense, and quickly gave a smile. "Do you hail from Gondor, friend? I would think you from the East, judging by your features."

He grinned proudly at that. "I am, indeed, my lady. My home is the White City and it is from there I rode out to seek counsel." A pause. "If you are not of elf kind, then surely you are from the North? Your hair is too dark to bear the blood of the Eorlingas and you speak of the East as one who does not dwell there."

She was glad to hear that. "Yes, I hail from the North."

"One of the Dunedain, then." He nodded and continued before she could correct him. "I had thought your kind all but gone from Arthedain, but it seems there is another of your kindred in Rivendell. A friend of Gandalf he called himself." Amera realized he was speaking of Aragorn. "Some of your kind guard the forests of Ithilien, if you know of them, along the borders of my country." The man added, as if an afterthought.

She didn't know of them, hadn't the slightest idea, and simply stared blankly for a moment. The man shifted his weight, then asked gently. "Have you a name, my lady?"

"Amera," She gave a polite nod in reply, "And you need not call me my lady. I have earned not that title."

A brow perked slightly but he did not question further. "Well met, Amera of the North. Boromir, I am called." Boromir looked to her sword. "You wield that well, better than most seasoned men I have seen in battle."

So he was a warrior. "Thank you. I've rather a long time to practice."

"May I see it?" She held out the sword to him and he took it carefully, eyes flickering with recognition and interest as he looked the steel over. Boromir remained quiet for a long moment and she could see the intensity in his gaze as it fell upon the blade. "It is a good sword," He finally stated, wrapping his fingers around the hilt and carefully raising it. "Though I fear I know little of the craft of the elves, I should think I know a fair blade when I see one."

He moved to hand it back to her and she nodded. "I fear it is a borrowed blade, for my own is…is misplaced at the moment, but I am honored to have been granted it all the same."

Boromir smiled, glancing once more to the sword. "I fear the hour is late enough already and I am keeping you from both your practice and your rest, so I will bid you a good eve, Amera." He turned to walk away, then let out a quick, awkward laugh and looked over his shoulder. "I hope you'll forgive my asking, but have we met? You look familiar, though from where I cannot say."

Amera ran a tongue over her lip, uncertain of how to reply, for she also thought him familiar, somehow. It was stranger, though, that he should somehow recognize her. Perhaps he had seen her in a book, as the one Glorfindel showed her, perhaps a statue? She considered introducing herself formally, to explain what she was, but decided against it a moment later and shrugged with a hint of a smile. "I think I would have remembered our meeting, Boromir, for not oft do I meet those who hail from the White City."

He was silent for a moment, then nodded with a faint grin. "A good night to you, then." Amera watched him leave silently, running her fingers absently over the leather hilt of the sword. When she could no longer hear his footsteps, she sighed softly. Frustrated by her inability to determine just who exactly he reminded her so greatly of, she moved down the hall and found an open balcony. Stepping into the moonlight, she sighed and breathed in the cool night air.

It was beautiful, Imladris, and when she closed her eyes she was able to imagine the sound of the distant waterfalls as the lapping of Nenuinal against the ancient bricks of her crumbling home. What state was it in now, her fair Annuminas? How great a toll had it paid against the wares of time and decay? Once, long ago, before she had risen from the water, it had been a city shining and bright, a beacon of hope unto the Men and to all those who would not bend beneath the weight of evil. But now, Amera sighed and set the blade aside, moving to rest her hands against the balustrade, it was empty, dirtied and abandoned.

The world was changed now, that much she could not deny nor pretend otherwise, and was changing around her. What she had known, what had guided her steps, was gone. Those she had called king, the few she had called friend, were dead, faded into lore and legend like it seemed she also was. Arthedain had fallen, the North had been crippled by the Witch-king and had passed into abandonment. Her world was gone, she swallowed hard, her fingers gripping the marble tightly, and would never be again.

Amera drew in a small breath, her throat tightening as she forced herself to choke back the tears springing in her pale eyes. She had a choice, she decided as she looked out over the valley. All this beauty, this peace, was threatened now as it had been so long ago. It was at risk and could as easily crumble as her own home had. Some things, she realized bitterly, did not change. Always would evil seek to conquer that which was good and so long as there yet remained good within Middle-earth, there could never be true peace.

Tomorrow she would attend the Council. Amera rubbed briefly at the few tears still threatening to course down her face. One day, perhaps, she could grant herself to cry, to allow herself to crack beneath the great weight of decision and memory forced upon her, but not today. She would not afford herself self-pity.

She returned to her room then and slipped beneath the silk sheets, determined to wake and attend the Council alongside what others of the Free Peoples had gathered. When she closed her eyes, finally drifting to sleep, she dreamt of all that once had been.


	7. Of Steward's Sons & Stories

_Her bare feet flew against the chilled marble, pitter-pattering as she joyously sprinted through the empty city as she did every morning. Should any have gazed upon her they were think her mad and she laughed with this knowledge as the mist of Evendim chilled her shoulders. Her robes and hair streamed behind her as she sprinted through the abandoned courtyard of Annuminas, gazing up at the familiar angles of the towering buildings surrounding her as she continued._

_It was a grey day and the mist did not disappear as it normally did, instead lazily pooling about the silent alleys and streets as a gentle rain began, further cleansing the nearly spotless city. Finally, she arrived at the uppermost level of the city and rested outside the gardens, grinning as she raised her face towards the sky and let the rain fall upon her. She laughed yet again and shook the wet tendrils of hair obscuring her vision and stared down at her beloved city, as proud and as noble as the men who had built it stone by stone. And yet, as she gazed out, something was different today. She narrowed her eyes as she struggled to determine just what exactly it was, but finally she saw it. There. Towards the North, dark clouds gathered above the peaks of the mountain range that bordered Evendim. Lightning crackled and illuminated the sky, ominous and threatening. A shiver trailed down her spine and Amera found herself suddenly afraid. She knew from whence the stormclouds were born and from where they threatened to pass over into the lands of Arnor._

_ They came from Angmar._

Amera stared at herself in the mirror, taking a deep breath and running her hands down the front of her gown. Little had she slept, her nervousness robbing her of any true rest. When she had woken, she had slipped a pale dress over her slender frame and tied her hair back tightly in a braid in preparation for the Council. She gave herself a faint smile, lowering the circlet that had been resting on the dresser over her brow. It was chill at first, the silver, and she remembered how once her dark hair had been adorned with flowers.

Sighing softly and deciding she could do no more, Amera quietly made her way into the hall and towards the courtyard where the Council was to be held. Her stomach did a small flip of anxiety as she considered what all might come to pass. Rarely had she been included in the affairs of the Free Peoples. Instead, she had heard tale of what all was happening throughout Middle-earth from the kings that had come to Annuminas.

She made her way through the quiet halls, the occasional strum of a harp or light laughter falling upon her ears. When she finally arrived at the courtyard a few minutes later, Amera found herself staring nervously at the scene before her, what confidence she had mustered prior all but shattered. Her hands nervously moved to her brow and she adjusted the circlet, the morning light spilling through the leaves of the trees that seemed to weave themselves through the buildings themselves.

Clearly Elrond had summoned any and all representatives of the Free Peoples across Middle Earth, she thought as she examined the scene before her. A group of dwarves talking lowly amongst themselves and casting dark looks towards a cluster of dark haired elves, whom Amera recognized after a moment as being from Mirkwood. A few men were there and spoke softly amongst themselves, their grey beards starkly contrasting the pale hair of another group of elves beside them. And there, across the courtyard, Amera spotted Aragorn and Gandalf nodding to each other, while a nervous halfing sat silently by himself. It was certainly a diverse representation, Amera decided, though none made any sort of attempt to break any unwritten rules by interacting with those of a different race; those familiar with each other simply stood and made small talk, ignoring the others around them.

"Wonderful," She muttered darkly beneath her breath, feeling profoundly out of place when she took a step forward and into the small crowd. However, the Council suddenly united as conversation immediately ceased, all eyes turning to her as she made her presence known. The knot in her stomach tightened as she held her gaze evenly, slipping through the small crowd and hoping the fearsome beating of her heart would not be heard as the silence continued. She offered a faint smile to Aragorn and Gandalf as she murmured, "Well met. It seems many have come this morning to seek counsel."

Gandalf noticed her discomfort. He glanced about the courtyard and shook his head, stroking his beard as he sighed and patted her gently on the shoulder. "Take no notice of it, Amera." He waved a hand as he continued. "Lord Elrond has asked you to be in attendance and that is all that matters."

She attempted an unconvincing smile and Aragorn nodded to her, hoping to make her as comfortable as possible. "Everyone is simply tense, my lady. Make no notice of their eyes for they already focus their attentions elsewhere." He gestured slightly and she glanced over her shoulder and saw it was true. The dwarves and elves had returned to their separate conversations, which Amera could make out to involve the benefits of iron ore and the growing of the best vineyards, though some of the men continued to occasionally glance in her direction. He was strange, not calling him neither king nor lord, but all the same she replied as he had requested.

"Thank you, Aragorn. I feel my nerves threaten my composure." She gave a quick laugh, already more at ease as she remarked dryly. "After all, this is rather an important occasion I should think." The chair beside him, which she had been hoping to occupy, was then taken by an elf before she could say another word. Aragorn noticed her glance and gave an encouraging smile.

"Go on then!" Gandalf gave her a nudge with her staff, ushering her forward. "There are plenty of chairs here and you could do with some socializing to ward off that shyness. It seems a thousand years of sleeping has done little to encourage your confidence!" She opened her mouth to give retort, brow furrowing at the accusation, but the staff batted her leg once more and she sighed. The hobbit beside Gandalf gave her a genuine smile as she turned, his bright eyes fixating on her features for a moment. He appeared as nervous and as out of place as she did, two representatives decidedly different from the rest gathered, and it occurred to Amera that he was the halfing that had brought forth the Ring.

Spying an empty chair, she approached it and politely addressed the man beside it, asking if it was taken. He turned and glanced over her as she smiled politely in an attempt to generate a conversation, but was rewarded with a loud huff of disapproval. Uncertain of what next to do, Amera frowned and blinked. "So it seems you do not always carry a blade with you," A familiar voice said softly and she turned, instantly recognizing the man from the night prior.

"If you wish a blade," She replied, "I should think you will find it on the dwarves. Armed to the teeth they look, bearing all manner of weapons should you need one."

Boromir laughed at that and perked a brow, glancing about before settling his gaze back on her. "You look bewildered."

She shrugged, glad to have met another who she knew. "The seat I had hoped to take was rather stolen, I fear. I," Amera flushed faintly, "am not sure where I should sit, as it seems some would prefer I not rest beside them."

"Then you may sit beside me," Boromir took an empty seat and Amera watched the gazes of the other men, including the one who had sneered at her only a moment ago, fall upon him with admiration. "I fear I know few here, as well, so I will be glad to have a friend." He gestured beside him and she sat down, perking her own brow.

"It seems as though while you may not know many, they certainly know of you."

"Ah, yes," He settled into the chair, running a hand through his copper hair as he turned to face her, "My father is-"

Before her could continue, the Council suddenly fell silent and she turned her attention to Elrond as he rose, his expression grim as his voice rang out through the courtyard. "Strangers from distant lands, friends of old and," Amera saw him briefly glance in her direction, "And those who return to us, you have been summon here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it." He paused momentarily then continued gravely. "You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom."

She inhaled slowly at that, her fingers nervously folding over each other as she worked to calm herself. Across from her, the hobbit rose slowly. She could see his unease. He stepped forward and she watched as he gently, delicately, laid a small ring upon the stone table in the center of the courtyard. Boromir sat up beside her and a brief murmur rippled through the Council, each present focusing their attention on naught but the ring laid before them. She knew what it was. She could feel it, somehow, could sense it.

Boromir shifted beside her as he murmured, "So it is true…" He slowly rose, his eyes never leaving the Ring as he spoke out, his voice clear and strong. "In a dream, I saw the eastern sky grow dark but in the West, a pale light lingered "A voice was crying, 'Your doom is at hand…'" Amera watched as his hand slowly extended towards the Ring ,trancelike. The Council remained silent as they watched him, transfixed by what lay before them. Something different came over him then, his fingers reaching out to brush the ring and she nearly spoke up when Elrond called out to him.

A harsh wind picked up and Amera stood up in surprise as the sky darkened, a deep shiver coursing through her. The Council immediately began to talk over each other but were silenced as Mithrandir rose, crying out in a deep and terrible voice she had not imagined him to be possible of. His words were harsh and guttural and she found herself trembling at their might, though she knew not their true meaning. She recognized it as the Black Speech, for she had heard it once before at the Battle of Fornost, had heard the orcs and necromancers of Mordor speak the foul tongue.

Just as the words were spoken, so they ended. Mithrandir appeared weary, allowing himself a small breath, and it seemed to her she could see his deep exhaustion. He lowered himself into his seat slowly, growling out, "I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond, for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard from every corner of the West!" He shook his head. "The Ring is altogether evil." He cast one last scathing glance towards Boromir, who appeared unaffected.

She drew in a small breath, but exhaled in as Boromir quietly began to speak yet again, choosing his words carefully, "It is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor! Why not use this Ring?" He rose incredulously, pacing slowly as he gestured the rest of the Council. "Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay!"

Amera blinked at this, her eyes widening as she watched him continue, though paid no attention to him as her mind reeled. She knew who he had so greatly reminded her of then, could see the resemblance in both bearing and features. He was of the line of the Stewards, a descendant of Mardil Voronwe who had long ago been her friend and offered her what aid she had not felt she deserved. She had known his forefather, so long ago at the end of an age, in this new one she had been fated to meet his descendant. It startled her, the coincidence, and she found herself simply staring as another storm of recollections swept over her.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Aragorn spoke up, his voice firm. "You cannot wield it, none of us can. The Ring answers to Sauron alone, it has no other master."

Boromir turned, clearly angered. "And what would a ranger know of this matter?"

A flash of disdain rippled through her and she opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted as an elf rose angrily from across the courtyard, fair hair tumbling over his shoulders. "This is no mere ranger! He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn." The blonde elf glared. "You owe him your allegiance."

Boromir turned towards Aragorn then and she could hear the incredulousness in his voice, "Aragorn? This is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor."

Amera watched as Aragorn gestured for the elf, whom he addressed as Legolas in the tongue of the firstborn to sit. Boromir was silent for a long moment, his eyes dark as he took in the King that sat before him. Amera watched cautiously as the kind, almost playful demeanor of the man she had spoken to only a few minutes ago vanished entirely. Finally, he sat down and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as he laced his words with venom. "Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king."

"Once the Steward of Gondor vowed to serve the Line of Elendil," She snapped back before she could stop herself, her words icy in their precision, "Has that vow been so readily forgotten as to-"

"Aragorn is right. The Ring must be destroyed. We cannot use it." Gandalf quickly spoke up, meeting Amera's eyes as he subtlety raised his hand for her to calm herself. She took a deep breath and brushed a loose wave of hair behind her ear, biting her tongue to hold back all else she wished to say. She ignored the shocked look Boromir cast her, lowering her gaze and forcing her attention back to the Council.

Elrond nodded in agreement, his words slow and precise. "You have only one choice. The Ring must be destroyed."

Suddenly, a ruddy, red haired dwarf rose and growled, raising his axe, "Then what are we waiting for?" With a cry he slammed his axe down upon the Ring as Amera flinched at the sudden noise, and then blinked in disbelief as the dwarf was thrown backwards. His axe, no doubt made of the finest materials the earth bore, was splintered as easily as wood. The dwarf slowly rose, clearly shaken, and returned to his seat as he stared in horror at the Ring.

The Council was silent; all eyes upon the Ring.

Finally, Gandalf slowly spoke, "We must remember the alliances long forsaken between the Free Peoples of Middle Earth and," he smiled gently towards Amera, "Welcome the return of those long lost to us. Much that once was is yet so again and readily should we embrace what would aid us. The Aeliniel-"

A loud sigh interrupted him, the source of it the old man who had been loathe to sit aside her earlier. "We've not time for children's stories, Gandalf. Too much is at stake for our time to be wasted discussing old legends."

The blonde elf spoke up once more angrily, , "And long has the Ring of Power thought to be nothing more than an 'old legend,' as you say, yet here it sits before us."

The dwarf spoke up, angrily running a hand through his braided beard as he sneered. "And for those of us that happen to be unfamiliar with the tales of Men, perhaps you might care to enlighten us, eh?"

All at once everyone began to speak, elves arguing with men while the dwarves scoffed openly. Amera sat there in silence, catching bits and pieces of what was being said.

"Useless!," snapped one of the dwarves, rolling his eyes as a man beside him spoke up.

"Sat around in that old city, waiting and waiting," Sighed a man, much to the fury of the elf sitting beside him.

"Refused the aid of the Steward-"

"Nothing more than an old story, told to babes and to comfort children." She was angry then.

"Lover of the Kings-," she heard, her hands trembling in her lap, "They all came to her…" More and more Amera heard, none of it true, even as the elves defended her unto the others present. This? This was what they thought her? Her jaw set so firmly a vein twitched in her neck and she swallowed hard, waiting for the argument to die down. It continued onwards and as she heard yet another falsehood, she growled under her breath. Boromir glanced to her, brow furrowing.

"What is it?" She did not reply and the debate continued to ring out through the courtyard. "You look as if you're like to be sick," He added, glancing her up and down.

"Loved Earnur, poor thing," Her eyes widened at that, glancing up, unable to look away as she watched the older man speak of her to another, "She went and killed herself after he died, unable to go on without him. They say that-"

"_That is not true."_ She rose suddenly, snarling above the chaos. A few around her turned swiftly towards her, caught off guard by her angered pronouncement. "That is not true!" Amera repeated a moment later, the Council quieting as she drew in a small breath. Shaking her head and briefly composing herself, she continued, her voice firm. "All that was done, was done in service to the King of Gondor, to fulfill a promise and an oath made long ago on the banks of Nenuial, aside the very tomb of Elendil himself and in the shadow of the city he built."

The courtyard was utterly silent. "And how is it you have come to be so assured in such legends?" Boromir questioned softly after a long moment. She could see him slowly coming to realization, his eyes flickering with curiosity.

The gaze of each were on her now and she raised her chin, the cold silver upon her brow reminding her of all that she had been, all that she was now. "Because it is not a legend," Gandalf spoke up before she could reply, words gentle as he nodded towards her, "It is a story and it belongs unto the woman before you." He paused briefly then gave her a warm smile, "Perhaps the Aeliniel wishes to speak?"


	8. The Aeliniel Speaks

Frodo watched as the woman stood silent for a moment, no doubt feeling the weight of the gazes of those present heavy upon her. She looked queenly to him, her features more similar to those of Aragorn than the firstborn, for she was both fair and solemn. Her hair was so dark and fell so fluidly over her shoulders it seemed wet, skin pale against the dark blue of her gown. She appeared caught off guard by the request, pale blue eyes reflecting surprise. He remembered the story Aragorn had told him, what seemed like so long ago now. As he looked at her, Frodo knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that this was the woman he had spoken of.

An older dwarf spoke up gruffly, "I mean no offense to the girl," Frodo saw the woman stiffen at that, "But I fear I cannot see how this aids any of us. Our discussion should focus on that Ring, on just what exactly is to be done with it. What concerns have we with the affairs of men?"

Frodo suspected the man, Boromir, Elrond called him, had a suggestion judging by his immediate frown but before he could announce it yet again, the woman spoke up. "Your affairs are no longer your own," She said, voice fierce despite its softness. "For that Ring concerns all the Free Peoples of Middle-earth. Keep to your mines and halls if you wish, master dwarf, but the doom of you and all that you love will come all the same, if Sauron is allowed his way. Even now, as we sit and argue, Sauron prepares. He will seek dominion over the caverns and halls and mines so beloved of your kindred and so also will he see the walls of Minas Tirith dirtied with the filth of his armies." Her voice became bitter then, "He will see the strength and pride of Men erased from history and memory and those who fall to the power of Mordor will be shown no mercy, for he is beyond it."

The Council was silent then. The Aeliniel blinked, appearing almost startled by the passion of her outburst, then added simply, softly, "Once did I fight alongside the Free Peoples of Middle-earth and gladly would I do so again," then sat down.

She kept her gaze lowered, her hands folding in her lap as she sat perfectly still. Her jaw set, Frodo watched as she took a small breath and finally gathered the courage to look up. Their gazes met then and he offered her a small smile. She tilted her head very slightly in something akin to gratefulness and returned it, her stiff posture relaxing.

"The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom," Frodo's attention was drawn back to Elrond as he spoke once more, "Only there can it be unmade." Frodo's heart sank at that, but he found himself all the more stunned a moment later as the elven lord added, "One of you must do this."

No one said anything. Frodo watched the gazes of those gathered dart from person to person, wondering just as he who might be the first to speak up. "One does not simply walk into Mordor," Boromir then uttered, rather irritably, and he heard Gandalf sigh quietly with frustration from beside him. "There is an evil there that does not sleep and the Great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash." Frodo swallowed hard. "The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this." Boromir shook his head and leaned back in his seat dismissively.

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?," The fair elf who had earlier defended Strider, or rather Aragorn, he supposed, stood angrily, pale hair sliding over strong shoulders, "The Ring must be destroyed!"

The ruddy dwarf was instantly on his feet, eyes dark with fury as he roared, "And I suppose you think you're the one to do it?"

"And if we fail, what then?" Boromir questioned fiercely, gesturing to nothing in particular as he too rose, "What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?"

The dwarf, still glaring at the elves seated across from him, snarled, "I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!"

Whatever order had been present at the Council was shattered as chaos broke out, the courtyard ringing with the impassioned arguments and frustrated roars of those gathered. Frodo felt very small then, watching as even Gandalf was unable to hold himself back and began to berate Boromir, rolling his eyes and snapping back to whatever the man was saying. The elves and dwarves were at each other's throats, ages of mistrust and dislike erupting before him. He wished very urgently to return to the Shire then, his heart yearning for the peace of the morning, for the bird call and for the gentle gurgle of the Brandywine and the warmth of the bright sun over the lazy hills.

The Ring sat before him, glittering amidst the crowd, and it seemed to him it whispered in the dark and terrible tongue of Mordor. It fed on the fervor, the curled murmurs growing louder, bolder, hungrier to him somehow as the arguments intensified, some appearing to be nearing blows. Still, the noise seemed to fade away until all he could hear was the Ring, all he could see the dull gold of it's surface. It thrived from this, he knew that much, could sense it. Frodo was not sure if he imagined the fires that suddenly snaked around the Ring or if the fires of Mordor sprung from it and flickered there through some dark will, but he shuddered all the same in horror.

It then occurred to him what he need do and without thinking, he too rose. "I will take it!" His voice was thick with determination, though it failed to break the clamor surrounding him. Frodo swallowed hard, repeating himself, "I will take it!"

The argument died down and he watched everyone's gaze turn slowly towards him. He saw the astonishment, the disbelief in their features and he wondered if they thought him joking. "I will take the Ring to Mordor," Frodo stated once more, a bolt of courage steeling his words. Though," He paused, his gaze meeting Gandalf's, "I do not know the way."

He half expected someone to interject, to order him to be seated and silenced, but Gandalf stepped forward before any could speak, "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins," He said gently, resting a weathered hand comfortingly on his shoulder, "So long as it is your's to bear." Frodo recognized the pride in his voice. Gandalf sounded like that when he spoke of Bilbo.

Before he could think any longer on that, Aragorn, who had been sitting uncomfortably and watching those around him argue prior, rose and approached. Frodo's eyes widened briefly as he knelt, for he was a king, a king of Gondor he now knew, but when Aragorn looked to him Frodo saw the kindly ranger that had saved him from a terrible doom, who had led him through the wilderness and to safety. He saw Strider. "You have my sword."

The elf spoke up, calmly offering his bow and so also did the dwarf offer his axe, casting a dark look towards Legolas, as Aragorn had called him. Frodo's gaze met the Aeliniel's from across the courtyard, her pale eyes steeled with what emotions he could not determine. Her hands clutched the sides of her chair so tightly her slender arms trembled. He thought she would rise as Boromir moved towards him, she appeared as though she might at any moment, but she made no move. She cast her gaze downwards then, almost shyly, and did not lift it.

As the rest of the Fellowship was then formed, his friends springing forth to swear themselves to his side alongside what was seemingly a crownless king, the son of the Steward, a prince and a lord amongst dwarves, the Aeliniel remained silent and Frodo found he soon forgot that she had so nearly moved to speak up, to cast her lot with the Fellowship of the Ring.

_Amera silently strolled through the library of Annuminas, watching the specks of dust glitter in the afternoon light as she absently ran her fingers along the leather tomes, carefully preserved for future generations to under, and learn from, the trials of their ancestors. She examined the shelves and empty tables, making sure all was in place before she continued her inspection to the armory. Her bare feet gently padded against the marble floors as she lifted the ends of her robes, carefully walking down the flight of stairs in the courtyard outside. She opened the stone door with a quiet grunt and glanced inside, her eyes scouring the racks of armor and weapons meticulously lined up against the walls, shining after all these years. With a satisfied nod, she turned and decided she might search for a new book in the library before retiring to the gardens to the evening, but paused half way up the stairs and slowly turned round once more._

_She opened the door yet again and quietly stepped into the armory, staring at the unfamiliar weapons cautiously as she stepped towards a row of longswords and raised a hand to delicately brush the hilt of one. The touch of cold, unforgiving steel was unfamiliar to her and she flinched, withdrawing her hand immediately. She had often polished the sets of armor, working to give each piece the sheen it deserved until her arms and back had ached, but she never touched the weapons. Something about them frightened her, despite their undeniable beauty._

_Taking a deep breath and without truly thinking, she reached forth and grabbed the hilt of a longsword, feeling her fingers wrap around the leather naturally, as if it was a familiar, and not entirely alien, motion. However, the longsword was much heavier than she expected and she shrieked as her arm was unable to support the weight. The weapon went sailing downwards from its mantle and she leapt back, nearly trembling as a metallic clang rang through the crowded chamber as the sword fell to the floor. After a long moment, she ever so carefully retrieved it and restored it to its place on the wall, lifting it with a good bit of effort despite the use of both hands. Disheartened and embarrassed, she decided it best to restore once more to books, where the worse injury she could receive was a paper cut, but in the corner of her eye, she noticed a blade different than the rest._

_It was longer than a dagger but shorter than the longsword which had very nearly cost her a few toes, its blade straight and shining, as was custom for the weapons of Arnor. She slowly reached out a hand once more, her fingers gently brushing against the worn leather of the hilt._

_It was smooth beneath her fingertips, almost welcoming. She was unused to leather, for she dressed in the silk robes and gowns left behind by the queens and nobles of the city. She was unused to steel as well, for that matter, and Amera found herself entranced by what was so utterly foreign to her. Carefully, slowly, she wrapped her fingers around the hilt and lifted the blade from the wall._

_It had a good weight to it, felt solid and strong. The sword glittered in afternoon light, pale and lethal and beautiful. She lifted her arm up, trembling slightly from the motion, and held it out before her. She wondered who once it had belonged to. One of the Dunedain long ago had bore it, a guard perhaps, and he no doubt now slumbered beneath the green grass or in one of the tombs resting alongside the lake front. What had this sword seen?_

_Her eyes flickered with curiosity as she gently turned the blade, resting the flat in the palm of her hand as she looked closer at it. It was marked, had seen some fighting, but she quickly discovered as she delicately pressed her thumb along it, but was as sharp as it ever had been. Amera then, feeling emboldened, gave it a slow swing through the air. It was silent and she found a little smile twitching into the corners of her lips. Another swing, this time fiercer, and then another._

_The afternoon sun faded behind the mountains and the moonlight cast itself onto the pale marble of Annuminas without her noticing. Her arms ached from the practice, but it was a good soreness. She felt accomplished. Amera wiped a bit of sweat away from her brow and smiled to herself, running her fingers over the soft grip once more._

_She looked at it silently for a long moment then set it back on it's mantle against the wall. It was beautiful, that sword, but it was not for her, she decided as she left the armory and made her way towards the gardens. Such belonged in the hands of a warrior and Amera was no warrior, that she knew. She was to watch Annuminas, to keep and care for it until one day a king might return through its marble arches. No, she had no business with a blade. That was not her duty._


	9. The Free Peoples

_Amera saw the riders before she heard them, the hoof beats of their horses silenced by the falling rain and muffled by the wet ground beneath their strong legs. Tiny black points in the distance, moving down the stone path that cut its way through the rocky hills, growing larger and coming closer with each moment. Her brow furrowed as she watched. It was a small party, no more than a handful of men. A small sliver of fear cut through her. She did not oft receive visitors and when she did, the King traveled with more men this, with guards and bannermen. Surely bandits, the tomb raiders who came down from the hills seeking the wealth and forgotten wisdom of Annuminas, would not ride so openly towards their prize? Her hand twitched by her side towards the hilt of a dagger shrouded in the folds of her robes, a reflex formed not so long ago. _

_ Amera sighed with relief a moment later. Despite the fog and wet, a banner moved in the chill breeze above the riders as they bore closer. It bore a glittering tree, proudly embroidered into gilded fabric, seven stars laced above each branch and a crown atop the highest. Men from Gondor, though not the King himself. More confused than fearful now, Amera made her way from the courtyard overlooking the hills through the silent levels of the city. It had been years, ten by her often incorrect assessment, since last she had seen Earnur, since Fornost. The scars adorning her back pricked with pain at the memory and she swallowed a wince, brushing her soaked hair back from her face as the riders entered beneath the marble arch of the city gate. _

_ Foam dripped from the mouths of their panting steeds, splashing against broken tile. "My lady," one of the riders nudged his mount closer, removing a hood to reveal the proud features the men of the South bore, "King Earnur of Gondor hopes you have fared well since last your meeting and that Annuminas has remained as untarnished as ever beneath your watch."_

_ She gave a faint smile, inclining her head and hoping to put the men at ease. "There is hay for your horses in the stables and I can prepare fire and food for you and your men, my lord." Two of the men exchanged nervous glances and Amera continued gently, more than aware of the discomfort many felt beneath the stone gazes of the lords of Arnor guarding the entrance to the city. "You are welcome here, as are all Men of Gondor. Surely you and your men are tired," She looked back to the messenger who had spoken before, "Perhaps you and I might speak while they rest."_

_ The men looked grateful at that, practically drooping beneath the cold rain and the icy breeze that swept of Nenunial and chilled the valley. The messenger nodded and Amera instructed them on where they might find warmth and food, pleased when she found one of them offered her a shy smile. She had the same effect on most as the statues of Isildur, Anarion and their father, Elendil, who had claimed this city over an age ago. Just as they were something of legend, figures of myth and lore, so also was she, though she moved and blood beat in her ancient veins. For that, men were not quick to be at ease in her presence. _

_ Amera and the messenger moved into the library, sheltered from the rain. "The King is not with you," She said simply, more of a statement than a question as the man nodded, removing his soaked cloak, "Surely he is well, as he was when last I saw him? Was he unable to make the journey west?"_

_ He nodded again, "Aye, the King is well, better than ever, I should think." His eyes strayed towards the mountains of ancient tomes stretched towards a ceiling gilded with pale glass, untarnished despite the wear of time and age. She saw wonder in them before he continued, "He sends his greeting and also a request."_

_ " A request?" _

_ The man reached into his hauberk, flicking a few drops of rainwater off an otherwise dry roll of parchment. She accepted it cautiously, folding it open and reading over the scrawled words as the messenger explained, "You've been called to Minas Tirith, my lady, by request of King Earnur himself."_

_ Amera blanched. "Minas Tirith? What business have I in Minas Tirith that Earn-, the king, would bid me travel?" She shook her head, confusion bright in her eyes as the rain pounded the roof above their heads, "No, my duties call for me to remain here, as always they have. I am tasked with the preservation of this city. Only once before have I left and then did I break the king's orders, though now he calls for me to leave?" She swallowed hard, working to keep her anxiety from controlling her tongue. "Know you why, friend?"_

_ The messenger paused. "No, I fear I do not, though I suspect the King had reasoned you might wish to remain here, so I was bid to tell you that such was an order from Earnur himself should you not respond," He shifted his weight, "with joy to his request. He also had stated, not- not angrily, my lady, that you seemed altogether fond of disregarding his orders and asked that I assure you that he holds both you and your duties in high regard. He said request of you is born out of necessity, not ill will."_

_ Damn it, Earnur, she thought with a sigh, imagining the laughter in his voice as he had spoken of her former decision to disobey at Fornost. _

_ The man gave a small smile, no doubt sensing her confusion and displeasure at such a request. "He also asked me state how eagerly he awaits your arrival and to assure you that you will be treated as a most honored guest of the King."_

_ Amera sighed despite herself, settling into a dusty chair and running a hand through her drenched hair. "When would Earnur have me leave, my lord? How great is the urgency of the king's request?"_

_ "Tomorrow."_

_ Amera sighed deeply, running her tongue over her lower lip. "If I might speak freely," The man offered and she looked up vaguely, her mind rushing with a thousand worries, thoughts & fears, "The King seemed to suspect you would not take lightly to leaving your city, Aeliniel, if…if I might call you that, and assures he would not ask such of you unless much was at stake." He lowered his voice further and Amera saw fear darken his eyes, "I know not how much you have been told of what has occurred since the King took up his father's throne, but I can stake at least a guess at why he's called you."_

_ She sat up instantly. "Then speak as you would, friend."_

_ He shifted his weight once more, nervously now, and it seemed to her the skies above them grew darker, the rain fiercer as the shadows in the library moved closer. "He's settled in Minas Morgul, as they call it now, Aeliniel. The whole valley's gone foul and plagued, the city itself whispers with the voices of the dead, they say."_

_ "Minas Morgul?" She knew the meaning of the words and her jaw set, a shiver trickling down her spine. "I know of no such place. _

_ "That's because it used to be Minas Anor, my lady. He's claimed it now, you see, and after…after the king was crowned, he rode forth and challenged him, as he did at Fornost, or so I've been told. Mardil, the Steward, kept him back, but all the same-"_

_ Whatever the man said was lost to her. Amera felt suddenly choked, frozen as if blanketed beneath some great, icy cloak that chilled her heart and blood. She drew in a sharp breath, the scars ravaged the planes of her back spiking with pain at the memory and it seemed to her that the man was speaking to her from a great distance away, his words muffled and drowned. _

_ "Aeliniel?" He finally touched her to get her attention and she flinched, hand moving towards the dagger at her side before she stopped herself. The man leaped back and she took a deep breath, closing her eyes and forcing the fear down deep inside of her to remain at bay. "Are you well, my lady?"_

_ "Are you sure of this?" She said softly, finally meeting his gaze, hoping, praying that what he spoke of was no more than rumor, than some tale told to frighten children._

_ "I am," he said, and Amera felt her heart sink, a great sorrow rising up in her, "The Witch-king's returned, my lady."_

"You spoke with Aragorn, I assume?"

"I have."

"That is well," Mithrandir smiled lightly, running a hand through his bushy beard, "He is a good man, better than most even sharing what noble blood flows in his veins. I had hoped you would take to him." He glanced over his shoulder to see her reaction. "You have, haven't you, hm?"

She nodded, a rare, genuine smile settling into the corner of her lips. "Yes, you need not worry that, Mithrandir."

"Good, very good," He mumbled, half to himself and half to her in that fashion wizards seemed so prone to, "And what was he decided upon, if you do not mind an old man's curious prying?"

"Perhaps the halflings of the Shire think you merely some old man with a love for gossip, Mithrandir," Amera said dryly, "But I know better. Not idly do wizards ask what they can guess at." He cracked a wide grin at that and she found it infectious despite her current mood. Mithrandir, even from their first meeting, had put her at ease. "Aragorn bid me do as I would wish," She said gently, her voice quiet, "I need not seek out his orders nor heed them, for he has none for me."

"As you would wish?" Mithrandir perked a brow, then continued to stuff an assortment of various items into a small pack, items whose purpose she could not begin even to guess at, "And what is it you would wish, Amera?"

She shrugged. "That has not altogether been determined.."

"You seemed determined enough at the Council," He snorted, carefully folding away a pipe into the satchel, "Half the Council was all but applauding and the other half would have had you gagged!"

"I fear I spoke out of turn." Amera said flatly, a faint blush rising up in her cheeks.

"Out of turn?" Mithrandir looked up sharply. "Whatever makes you think that?" She flushed further and opened her mouth to speak, but he continued with a surprising sternness. "Perhaps you grew too accustomed to the old lords who disregarded your words, Amera Aeliniel, for in their pride they ignored what would have done them great good. You were invited as a guest, an _honored_ guest to a Council, where nearly always discussion is welcome if not altogether encouraged. You spoke up as you thought best and I assure you there were plenty there who needed a sharp reminder that they are not altogether as mighty as they deem themselves."

She gave a little smile, feeling a small rush of pride despite herself. It had felt good to speak her mind, to forgo what courtesies she was accustomed to when addressing a great lord, a lord she was bound to serve. Mithrandir caught glimpse of the smile and continued gently, "Have you at least an idea of what you will do, Amera? There is much that needs done, more I fear than any of us can accomplish, though certainly your aid will be welcomed."

Amera shook her head. "Aragorn had spoken of his kindred to the North, the Dunedain that remain in Arnor. I had thought perhaps there, for there is rumor of stirrings in Angmar." Her jaw set. "Carn Dum is no longer abandoned, Aragorn fears."

"Ah," Mithrandir said, pausing from his packing to glance once more to her, "Yes, I had feared the Witch-king had returned to Angmar, though if the Dunedain think it so, that is a greater threat all the same. Would you seek him out of vengeance, Amera?"

The bluntness of his question caught her off guard. "I would seek out that which threatens the West," She replied slowly, considering her words, "And if the Dark Lord grows stronger in the East beyond the mountains, then I would think it foolish to turn a blind eye unto his servant in the North. Angmar is as dangerous a foe as Mordor, Mithrandir, you know this as well as I." Amera set her jaw. "I will not deny I yearn to see this foe undone, but all the same I-"

"Undone?"

An edge came into her voice, hinting at the anger rippling beneath her calm exterior. "I would burn Angmar to the ground," She said, "Given half the chance. I'd see it and its Lord purged from Middle-earth and Angmar made no more than some distant, foul legend, forgotten and vanquished." Mithrandir appeared startled by the ferocity in her words and she glanced downwards briefly, "I have not forgotten the Witch-king, Mithrandir, and I will not forget."

He did not say anything, instead simply continued to stuff his pack, and Amera found herself unable to guess at what he was thinking. Feeling uncomfortable, worrying perhaps that she had said too much, had said the wrong thing, but the wizard spoke up a moment later. "I had thought you were going to join the Fellowship," Mithrandir mused, "Judging by the way you were gripping your chair half to death." Amera did not reply and he continued, sensing her silence, "Was there reason you did not, Amera?"

"Nine is a fortuitous number," She replied wryly, "Given all that the Fellowship is set against. I see no reason to disrupt such happy chance as that."

"Chance?" Mithrandir snorted, "You assume all this to be chance? No, I do not think this chance, I do not think any of this to be mere _chance._ Surely you had better reason than that, Amera, or at least I should hope you'd more sense than that."

She flushed. "So this is the true reason you asked me meet with you?"

"Indeed!," he laughed as if such was obvious.

Amera frowned, shifting her weight in her chair, "The Fellowship is drawn from the Free Peoples of Middle-earth, Mithrandir. I am not one of the Free Peoples. I have no business in such as the Fellowship."

"Not one of the Free Peoples?" He frowned very deeply and she caught sight of the wisdom flickering in his old eyes, bright as any flame. Age had not withered him, that much was certain to her. "Just what exactly do you consider yourself to be then, Amera, if not one of the Free Peoples?"

"I…," She fumbled with the words, "I am not…I belong neither to race nor kind, Mithrandir. You have Saruman, the wizard in Mirkwood, if my memory serves me correct, you have your own kind. The dwarves, the firstborn, even the halflings; all of them belong to something. I do not and I never have."

Pity was kindled in his gaze then. "Is that what you think, Amera Aeliniel, that you are alone?"

_I have always been alone_, she wanted to say, _from the first breath I drew I was alone. My kin are the statues of lords who never shall speak to me, my city is silent. I have always been alone._ She said nothing.

"Well," Mithrandir finally stated, turning back to continue readying his pack, "Were I in your position, which I am not, I would cast off whatever it is you think, for it is certainly not what I think, nor what Aragorn thinks, nor what anyone with half a mind thinks. You are unique, yes, that cannot be denied, in ways that I do not understand nor do I think you yourself understand and perhaps never shall, but for that you are altogether valuable." He shook his head in mild frustration, "Whether you think yourself one or not, to Sauron and his servants you are one of the Free Peoples, a champion of them in truth, and because of that," Mithrandir perked a bushy brow in her direction, "You are a threat. You would seek, perhaps with more fury than most, to see him undone. In that, you stand united with us. You are one of the Free Peoples, Amer, you always have been."


	10. Broken Things

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Thank you to everyone taking the time to read this! Not surprisingly, like most people who enjoy writing, I really very much thrive off feedback, so if you have any, please feel more than free to leave a review. I feel charged by reviews and the more I get, the more inspired I generally am to write out the next chapter, so seriously if you're enjoying this, I'd so appreciate you letting me know. Thanks and enjoy!

It was dark by the time he found her, nearly missing altogether, for her dark hair and robes melted into the shadows of the Last Homely House. Glorfindel had not seen her since the morning, since his own folk had gathered to watch the Fellowship leave on their quest, nine walkers setting forth against the nine wraiths. She had been there, Amera, standing so silent and still she all but seemed a statue. He had caught glimpse of her speaking to Mithrandir & Aragorn earlier in the morning, though he feared he could only guess at the intent of their conversation. Amera, while more talkative than she first had been brought to Imladris nearly a week ago, all the same remained quiet, shy. Glorfindel was reminded that she must be unused to conversation, for he could not begin to imagine the infrequency with which the Line of Anarion and their households traveled westward to Annuminas.

"You are difficult to find, Amera," He said gently as he stepped into the moonlit room, not wishing to alarm her.

She instantly looked over her shoulder, fingers twitching by her side. "I had not known you were looking for me, Glorfindel," Amera replied quietly, turning her gaze back towards the mural before her, "Or I would have sought you out. My apologies."

He said nothing, instead walking beside her. Glorfindel looked upwards at the painting. It was beautiful, perhaps even more so clad in the silver moonlight than in the light of day. There was Isildur, his grey eyes blazing with sorrow and anger and there also, hope, as he raised the broken blade in defiance before the looming form of the Dark Lord. He stood aside her, silent, then finally spoke. "I had not expected to find you here, Amera."

"I had not seen the Shards," She said faintly, "And wished to."

"And what do you think of them?"

Amera appeared surprised by the question, "They are beautiful, in their own way," She stated, turning to face them laid out delicately over a silken fold, "But fierce. It seems strange to me, that something so simple as this was that which struck the deepest at the Dark Lord."

"Strange?," Glorfindel perked a brow, "Why?"

"It seems to me that the greatest weapons should oft bring about the most good, that of all things, it was a broken blade that cut the Ring from Sauron's hand."

"Do you not believe broken things can bring forth good, Amera?" That pierced her. He saw it flicker in her pale eyes. When she said nothing, Glorfindel continued gently, kindly, as he nodded towards the mural, "All hope seemed lost when Isildur drew up the shattered remnants of Narsil, his father broken beside him and the Lord of Mordor stretching forth to see him undone. His great sword, dashed and crushed beneath a heel, yet he drew it all the same."

"There is a painting of Elendil in Annuminas," Amera said unexpectedly, her pale gaze flickering on the form of Isildur, "In chambers of the library there. It shows him setting foot in the bay, along with his sons and his ships, brave and bold." A faint smile graced her porcelain features. "Once did I go there, to find courage and counsel when I needed it most. I had thought perhaps his son might offer me what wisdom I found before his father long ago."

"And when did you seek out Elendil?" Glorfindel asked.

"Before I left for Fornost," The smile remained, but grew more distant, "Before I disobeyed Earnur and rode out to battle, before I met you."

"And why is it you now seek out the shards, Amera?," He questioned softly, knowing full well the answer she would give.

"Because I do not know what to do, Glorfindel," Her voice was a murmur and when she turned to face him, there was an honesty in it, delicate and pained, that he had never heard before. "When I drew my sword at Fornost, there was nothing left to defend. That day was won, yes, but at such a cost as could never be repaid. The Northern Kingdom fell, Arnor was all but destroyed, the Dunedain slaughtered and," She drew in a small breath, tempering her emotions, "You know as well as I, Glorfindel, that there was nothing left to save with that victory."

"I do," he answered.

"I cannot do the same now," her voice cracked quietly, "I will not act only when there is nothing left to save."

Glorfindel was touched by the determined sorrow etching her words. There was a reason, he reminded himself as a hand reached out to rest over her own, Amera had left an impression upon him from their first meeting over an age ago. Her skin was cool beneath his and she nearly flinched, he saw, but kept still all the same as he spoke, "Act then, Amera, now, tonight. Do what it is you would do and go forth bearing the hope and favour of the Free Peoples."

Her eyes widened at that. "I am too late," She lamented, a tongue running over her lower lip, "I kept silent and what chance I would seek is gone."

"It is not," He reassured, a kind smile touching his noble features, "If you leave tonight and travel quickly, you will be able to reach them, Amera. Worry not."

She drew in a small breath, steeling herself and meeting his eyes. "Do you think I have business in this, Glorfindel, since it seems you so easily guess as all that troubles me?"

"I do," Glorfindel said, "From first I saw you, Amera Aeliniel," His hand gripped her own tenderly, "For all your fear, you were brave. You have always been brave, even if you do not see it yourself, and through you, men are made better. I would have you use this second chance you have been given for greatest good." He nodded once. "I would not have you live in regret any longer, Amera."

"Then I will do this," She said determinedly and Glorfindel saw in her eyes the bright courage, touched with fear and pierced with hope, that marked Isildur's upon the mural.

"We're lost!" Sam remarked angrily, kicking a loose rock, "We had no business wandering off like this and now look what you've got us into!"

"What _I've_ gotten us into?" Merry replied indignantly, his brow furrowing, "You seemed just as eager to find a bit more to eat, Sam, so don't you think you can go and pin this all on me!"

"Gandalf's going to be furious with us!," He lamented further, "We'll have a tongue lashing for this and I'll never hear the end of it!"

Frodo sighed heavily from beside him and Merry did his best to keep down the anxiety quickly growing inside of him. It was true, they were lost. It had seemed like an easy enough, simply going for a bit of a stroll to find some mushrooms or vegetables with which they might supplement what he, and Pippin for that matter, considered an inadequate amount of dinner. He had been comfortably napping, Pippin, and had sleepily shrugged off Merry's request for a quick hunt. Frodo had overheard and had kindly offered to join him, which Merry suspected was an excuse to have a bit of breath away from the rest of the Fellowship, and in turn Sam had trudged along, as well.

"I knew we should've asked Strider or Boromir to come with us," Sam said glumly, scanning the rocky horizon for signs of their camp, "Even Legolas might've known where to find something to eat. He's an elf, after all, and they're good with that, aren't they? No, but now we're lost and-"

"We're not lost!" Merry quickly replied, "And even if we were, which we're _not_, whinging about it wouldn't do any good. Instead, let's just do our best to retrace our steps. I'm sure everyone's just over the next hill." He glanced to Frodo, who offered a weak smile. Looking back to the rolling hills before them, he gulped nervously. They had been traveling for three days now, a rather awkward three days as each of them, decidedly different, had tried to get to know each other and avoid stepping on as many toes as they could. Eregion, that was the name of the land, Merry remembered Boromir telling him with a friendly smile.

It was a rough land, utterly different from the placid Shire he had known all his life. Where he was familiar with green grass, there was only brown, dry dirt and where he had come to love flowering trees, there were only small shrubs and rocky outcroppings. Still, he thought it beautiful in its own feral, foreign way, though his toes did yearn for the soft soil of the Buckland.

"Are you certain we came this way?" Frodo asked quickly and Merry gave a nod.

"Yes! Just a bit farther this way, I'm sure!"

Before long, the sun began to set and Merry grew increasingly worried as the shadows grew and stretched over the empty hills before them. They were lost, very lost, and while they all knew none seemed eager to voice the realization. He did not know what might roam these lands and while they seemed void of any life save the occasional squirrel, he found himself on edge all the same. His hand rested on the hilt of the sword he was not yet comfortable with yet as they walked onwards.

"There!" Sam suddenly called out and both he and Frodo jumped in surprise. "Do you see it? There! Just over there!" His hand extended outwards.

Merry squinted, then caught glimpse of the faint, bright flames of a distant fire along the next hill. He grinned widely. "See! Told you we'd find them soon enough!" They began to walk quickly towards it, all eager to put this small adventure behind them and enjoy the security that came with camping with the Fellowship, "See, Sam!" Merry continued brightly, "Did that worrying do you any good save twist your stomach in knots?"

Sam mumbled something in reply, casting a dark look in Merry's direction. Merry ignored it. The fire grew closer and closer as the cool of the night settled over the plains, much to his relief. He made a mental note to not venture out on his own from now on, not when Strider, the dwarf or Boromir seemed eager enough to lend aid. They were kind, all of them, in their own way and he found himself growing quite fond of them.

"We're back!" Sam called out as they approached the campfire, a grin of sheer relief stretching across his features. However, Frodo leapt forward and clasped a hand over his friend's mouth, casting a frightened glance towards Merry.

"Frodo, what're you on abo-" Before he could question further, Frodo shook his head violently and attempted to pull Sam back away from the firelight. Merry looked towards the camp in confusion, his eyes widening in horror a moment later. Instead of nine bedrolls spread out, there were only four and the wealth of provisions the Fellowship had brought with them from Rivendell was replaced by dirty hides and bones. A crude pot hung over the fire, a rusty knife resting on a rock beside it.

This was not their camp.

As the realization set in, Merry frantically turned to run, but ended up slamming into something and fell straight to the ground. Glancing upwards, he found himself staring into the dirtied face of a tall man, thick black hair falling over his shoulders in greasy strands. The firelight flickered over fierce features, dark eyes and rotten teeth that appeared beneath a grin.

"Just what've we got ere'?", He growled, words masked beneath a rough accent.

"Run Frodo!" Merry tried to cry out, but was quickly silenced by a hand that wrapped over his mouth and stifled him. He struggled furiously, doing his best to reach the blade at his side, and saw that Frodo and Sam were attempting the same, each held by another figure. Terrified and frantic, he bit down on the hand and upon hearing a cry of surprised pain, cried out, "Strider! Gandalf! Lego-" The hand came down again, angrier than before, and Merry caught a low curse rumbling forth from the man's chest as he was given a swift kick.

Soon, all three hobbits were aptly silenced and drug back towards the fire. A tall man stepped forward from behind one of the large rocks surrounding the camp, surveying the three with a mixture of curiosity and what Merry assumed to be foul intent. "Names, eh?" He furrowed his brow, "Who you callin' out for? There more of you?"

Neither of them said a word, though Sam glowered fiercely. The leader nodded to the man holding Sam and Sam was given a rough shove forward towards the fire. The man held out a crooked blade and Merry's eyes widened in horror. "Now, little un'," He growled, "Either you start tellin' us where these friends of your's are or we'll have to make you tell us. You won't be likin' that."

Before Sam could reply or so much as move, a loud crack suddenly rang through the camp. The man stood up instantly, wrapping his dirtied fingers around the hilt of his sword. It was dark now and the moon provided little light. Merry squinted and searched the shadows illuminated by the firelight for sign of one of the Fellowship, hoping they had heard their cries or had found them. However, nothing moved and whatever had caused the noise was silent once more. The leader, though clearly still on guard, sighed and shook his head, turning his attention once more to Sam. "Speak up now or I'll have my sword do the talkin' for you!"

A whistling, quick and high and soft, then rang through the night air. Merry blinked in confusion and a moment later the hands holding him captive fell away. The man that had been forcing him still cried out and Merry caught glimpse of something cutting through the darkness, a bright flash that buried itself in the side of the leader. "Run!" He yelled to Frodo, who in the confusion had also been let loose, as well. A shadow then moved from the corner of his eye and as he turned to watch it, he could only stare as it leapt forward from the darkness. Something shone in its hand, quicksilver in the firelight, and he gasped as it cut towards the leader of the men. A spurt of crimson shot out and the man grasped at his throat, choking and stumbling forward.

By now, the other men had rushed forward with a cry to aid their friend, who had fallen, twitching, beside the dying fire. Merry watched as the figure quickly raised their sword to parry a blow, then ducked another, moving as quickly and as fluidly as Legolas, though he knew it was not his companion. He then remembered the sword at his side and drew it, feeling the unfamiliar leather beneath his fingertips. Slashing wildly, he cut into the leg of one of the men, who toppled forward with a cry. The figure took advantage of this, side stepping a swinging blow from a crude mace with a snarl, and moved their sword downwards across the man's chest. He screamed and Merry saw blood stain the dry earth before them, flickering in the firelight.

Two more men remained and one of them chanced a lucky strike, managing to swipe the figure's arm. The cloaked figure gasped in surprise, stumbling backwards for a moment, but fought back all the fiercer for it, their blade movingly through the air effortlessly, practically gracefully in its lethal dance. They ducked another hit, turning and thrusting in a smooth motion, taking down yet another. The last man fell to his knees then, much to Merry's surprise, and began begging. He raised his hands up pitifully, practically crying, but the figure did not so much as flinch before the bright sword came down once more and silenced his whimperings.

The bloodied camp was utterly silent then, save for the crackling of the ashen wood, and Merry simply stared. The figure raised a hand to their upper arm, winced once, then took a step forward. Frodo and Sam leapt back, Sam drawing his sword with a cry. Both hands rose up, dropping the sword, and the figure knelt onto one knee. "I will not hurt you, I swear it, but if you are hurt then I will aid you as best I can until we can find the rest of the Fellowship."

Merry's brow furrowed. They knew about the Fellowship, however they were, though he was certain that this entire endeavor was supposed to be rather secretive. His gaze trailed back to the slain men and the blood soaking the ground, suspicious of whoever had rescued them. "Forgive me," A soft voice rang out and hands moved to throw back the hood, "I did not mean to startle you, only-"

An arrow cut through the air and buried itself in the trail of the figure's cloak. They gasped and Frodo called out, "No! Wait!"

The figure extended their arms higher as a sign of surrender and though Merry could not make out what they were saying over Frodo's cries to stop, he found he recognized the voice. He looked from where the arrow had appeared and saw what could only be the figures of Pippin, Strider & the rest of the Fellowship springing towards them, Legolas quicker than the rest with bow drawn. "I'm a friend!" The figure called out, the voice distinctly feminine now, then slipped into a strange tongue and cried out once more. Legolas stopped at that and Merry saw his eyes widen in surprise in the moonlight, Gandalf & Strider rushing forward with Pippin trailing behind.

However, Boromir rushed forward from the side of the camp with a cry, slamming his shield into the woman and tackling her from the shadows. She fell with none of the grace she had exhibited a moment earlier. Boromir kicked her sword away from her hand and drew his own with a snarl, instantly placing it at her throat. She raised up both hands, panting now, and as her cloak fell over her, Merry could make out the feminine form beneath it. "Show yourself!" He growled and roughly tore her hood away. Dark hair tumbled out, clinging to a pale brow dotted with beads of sweat. Boromir stared for a long pause, blinking in surprise, then took a step back.

The woman from the Council, the one who Gandalf had called Aeliniel and had spoken to Strider before their journey had begun, stared back.


	11. The Tenth Walker

Amera did her best to catch her breath, painfully aware of the gash dripping from her upper arm. It was difficult to make out the expressions of the Fellowship from only the moonlight and the dying fire, but what she could see was shock, anger, confusion, faint recognition and surprisingly, something like amusement in the weathered face of Mithrandir. Her gaze flickered to the point of the sword resting uncomfortably close to her and she shifted slightly, biting down on her lip as a surge of pain rippled through her arm. No one said a word until Mithrandir suddenly shoved Boromir out of the way, practically kicking aside one of the halflings as he surged forward to question her.

"And did you think this the best way to announce your presence, Amera? Simply appearing in the middle of the night with your hood raised and sword drawn?," He barked and to which she nearly glowered.

"Such circumstances were less than ideal," She replied sharply, relaxing once Boromir lowered his sword, "Though I think if anything, my sword and my hood were of service to both you and your Company, given what might have happened without them." Amera brushed away a few dark strands of sweaty hair behind her ear, pressing her hand to her upper arm with a small wince. She sighed, calming herself and offering an explanation. "I have been trying to catch up with you for two days now and had feared I was too far behind until I heard one of the halflings call for you. I saw the fire and the Dunlendings, for so I believe them called, and I assure you they meant naught but ill will unto your companions."

Mithrandir took pause to stare at the bodies of the wild men littered around the camp, two daggers shining from the forms in which they were now sheathed. He then looked back to Amera with a huff. "I suppose we should be grateful then, to have had you near, which no doubt you would like us to be, but for now we must leave this place as quickly as we can. Who knows what other foul things might be drawn to our commotion and I, for one, am uneager to deal with anything more this evening."

She nodded and slowly rose to her feet, taking the time to withdraw her daggers and sheathe her blade, feeling uncomfortable beneath the gazes of those present. The halflings in particular, all of them save the Ringbearer, stared at her with a mixture of horror and curiosity. She did her best to put them at ease by offering a faint, tired smile to the stockiest of the bunch. It did no good.

The moon was high in the night sky by the time they reached the camp, Amera glancing at the bedrolls scattered around rather haphazardly. Aragorn had offered to bandage her arm and she accepted it gladly, relieved by the subsiding pain as he carefully pressed a few leaves to the wound. It was a stupid wound, she sighed as she glanced at it, one created by her own carelessness. She needed more practice. Though it had been long since last she held a blade, all the same if she was to wield one again, certainly for such an endeavor as the one she hoped to join, she would need to wield it well. "You fought well," Aragorn said softly, wrapping a strip of cloth around her slender forearm, "They were seasoned fighters, the Dunlendings. I fear for what might have happened to the hobbits without you."

She lifted her head, made aware of the fierce rebuke being given unto the three hobbits from Mithrandir across the camp. "I am glad I was there when I was," Amera replied, wincing once as he tied the cloth firmly, "But I think I am more relieved to have not been shot nor stabbed in the confusion when you arrived." Aragorn gave her a gentle smile at that, looking upwards as Mithrandir approached.

"Now, Amera, I think it is high time you explained yourself." He said politely but strongly, the rest of the Fellowship sitting down to warm themselves by the fire as they turned to listen.

She ran a tongue over her lower lip, self-conscious, but spoke all the same. "I had wished to join the Fellowship at the Council and very nearly did, but in my worry I did not and regretted it. I spoke unto Glorfindel, who bid me do as I would wish, and I left Imladris after receiving his good will. I have been trying to catch up with you for two days now, following what signs you had left behind, and had thought myself too far behind until I heard one of the hobbits cry for you earlier, Mithrandir. I ran towards what fire I saw and from there, you know the rest."

"Glorfindel?" Gandalf perked a brow, but she detected a small smile beneath his bushy beard. "He advised you to find us?"

"Yes," Amera said, "He told me what route he had suspected you might take and how quickly I should travel in order to reach you."

"Does Lord Elrond know of this?" The elf, who Amera remember had been called Legolas, spoke up. He tilted his chin towards her small pack and the traveling garb she bore, clearly crafted by elven hands.

She shifted her weight slightly, "I had not sought his counsel, no, but I-"

"So it seems we have a burglar," The dwarf stated rather accusingly, causing her to flush, "My father's company had one such as you. Tricky, he was, as trouble as he was of use."

"I left as swiftly as I could," Amera defended herself, nodding once, "And as Glorfindel bid me try and find you, I had thought that permission enough."

Mithrandir waved a hand, clearly unconcerned with the details of the matter, "Now, since you've introduced yourself by way of fending off a few foul folk, Amera, perhaps it is best you give your name to those who perhaps are unfamiliar with you," He cast a look towards the two hobbits that had so abruptly joined the Fellowship, seemingly appearing from nowhere as they had run forth. "For I should fear in their hiding, they might rather have had heard the discussion of the Council murmured."

"I know who she is," One perked up proudly, the soft lilt of his voice contrasted with Mithrandir's tone, "She had everyone all up in arms about something or other," He flashed a smile towards Boromir, "Especially Boromir and some of his friends."

Boromir appeared visibly uncomfortable at that and Amera felt she no doubt mirrored him, flushing further. Mithrandir rolled his eyes with a deep sigh, glancing about the rest of the Fellowship. He opened his mouth to speak further, but before she could stop herself she interrupted, "I wish to join the Fellowship, if…if you would have me. There are nine of you, yes, and such is a blessed number for such as this, but I wish to join all the same. I should have, would have, at the Council, and I regret that I did not. I would join you now, if you accept my aid and my oath, to help you in your quest."

She grew quiet then, watching the rest of the Fellowship. Mithrandir appeared pleased, though as usual she could not begin to guess what emotions Aragorn had of her request. The elf smiled at her, as did the hobbit that had spoken up, and Amera waited silently, her stomach churning in anxiety.

"She can fight well," Boromir spoke up gruffly, much to her surprise, his arms crossing over his chest as he nodded in her direction. "She can wield a blade better than most and I would think it wise to have another familiar with their sword in the Company."

Caught off guard by his words of favor, she blinked and glanced downwards briefly when he did not return her gaze. "She is a friend to my kindred," Legolas stated, "and honored amongst the Free Peoples. Her aid is of great value that we would be foolish to turn away."

She said nothing as Mithrandir finally turned to Frodo, who had been silent up until this point. "I will leave the decision up to you, Frodo, as you are Ringbearer."

Frodo looked to her then and she found herself unable to guess what the thoughts behind his wide, blue eyes might be. There was wisdom in his eyes, despite his stature and youth, determination and intelligence. Amera found herself deciding that even if he should send her away, as he had right to do, then she would be at peace with the matter. She had tried, after all, had done her best and offered her aid. It was only up to the Ringbearer now, to decide whether to accept it.

"I would not turn away a friend of the Free Peoples," Frodo finally spoke up quietly, his bright eyes meeting her own, "Not when there seems to be so many against us. I would accept whatever aid you might offer, my lady, gladly and thank you for it."

Amera smiled.

"You mean to tell me _that_ is a seasoned warrior?" Gimli questioned gruffly, gesturing towards Amera's sleeping form with his pipe.

"She was called Maiden of Battle by Glorfindel himself," Legolas replied, "For her courage at the Battle of Fornost. For Glorfindel to think so highly of her is a rare honor."

Gimli snorted, taking a draw from his pipe, "I fear I don't value greatly the opinions of _dainty_ elven lords when it comes to battle. We dwarves are far more experienced with that."

Aragorn quickly set a hand on Legolas' shoulder as the elf said angrily, "Glorfindel slew a _balrog_, dwarf."

"She fought the Dunlendings without aid, Gimli" Aragorn quickly cut in, hoping to steer the conversation away from any further argument, "That is no small feat given how long it has been since last she fought. We owe her our respect for that, at least."

He huffed once, the moonlight dancing over his scarred features, "So she is a fighter then, eh? Doesn't look it. Seems like a bit of breeze might go and blow her over." Gimli gestured towards Amera once more, who was curled up across the camp beneath her cloak. She had been exhausted, given both her skirmish with the Dunlendings and her swift trek across Eregion to catch up with them. After a rather awkward bit of silence, she had been ushered to bed by Mithrandir, who informed her they would be rising at first light and it was in her best interest to get as much sleep as she could before the dawn.

The hobbits had gone to bed, as well. Aragorn had been amused to notice Sam keeping his distance from her, casting a nervous glance in her direction before settling in for the night. Mithrandir, still grumpy from chastising the halflings for their foolishness earlier, had rolled onto his side with a grumble and said nothing more, leaving Boromir, Legolas, & Gimli and himself to assume he too had fallen asleep.

"She has seen battle," Legolas defended her quietly, his emerald eyes gleaming in the moonlight form beside him as he looked to Boromir, "Do your people speak of her often, Boromir?"

Aragorn glanced to the man, who had been silent up until this point. He gave a small shrug of his shoulders in reply, seemingly uncaring, "What stories we have of her are told to children and are vague at that."

"Children's stories?" Gimli sighed, shaking his head, "We're joined by a children's story?"

"She fought the Witch-king, dwarf," Legolas stated darkly, what Aragorn recognized as a warning, "To save one of my kindred from his sword when he rode forth to speak unto Earnur." Boromir lifted his head at that. "She fought him and he struck her thrice, thinking he had cut her down, but she did not fall, not until he had fled at the sight of Glorfindel. Earnur himself carried her from battle and it was by her will alone that she survived, for terrible are the weapons and dark breath of the Nazgul." He gave a small nod to no one in particular, adding softly, "We should be thankful for her aid."

Gimli was silent at that, working to hide how impressed he appeared by drawing from his pipe, though Aragorn saw Boromir seemed surprised. "They talk about that in your children's stories, hm?" The dwarf chuckled, perking a brow towards Boromir, who shook his head.

"No, no they do not. We speak little of her."

Gimli shrugged at that, standing up and tucking his pipe away into his pack. "Well, whatever she is, she had better keep her pace up tomorrow. I don't fancy having to carry her all the way to Mordor if she's slow."

Legolas opened his mouth to retort, visibly angry, but Aragorn quickly cut in. "We'll see tomorrow. Goodnight, Gimli."

Once he was out of earshot, Aragorn sighed and rested his hand once more upon Legolas' shoulder, the prince still clearly furious. "Give him time, Legolas," He reassured, "You forget, my friend, that few remember her and even fewer know of her. Your people remember much that others cannot. Gimli has right to be worried, even if it is misplaced. He means no insult to you or your people." That was a blatant, for Gimli meant a variety of insults, but all the same Legolas relaxed and nodded.

"You are right, Aragorn," He slipped into Sindarin, giving a little smile, "Thank you, for your wisdom."

Aragorn gave a small nod as the elf retreated into the darkness to rest, glancing over his shoulder to Boromir. "I will take first watch if you wish it, Boromir."

He waved a hand absently, "Nay, take what rest you would, Aragorn. I will watch for the remainder of the night. Half of it is spent, anyway. The dawn will be here soon enough." He said distractedly, gaze focused on some distant point Aragorn could not begin to guess at.

Aragorn watched him a moment longer, then nodded. "If you wish, then gladly will I retreat to bed. If you have need of me, Boromir, you need only ask."

Boromir nodded loosely, a hand running through his auburn hair as he pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders, positioning his sword and shield at the ready by his side. Aragorn wondered what it was the man was thinking, what had caused his gentle smile to fade and his calm demeanor to ice, but as he slipped beneath his cloak and rested his head, he wondered no more.


	12. Ruins

"_And may I bid you welcome to Minas Tirith, Amera!" Earnur rose from his throne with a wide grin, dark hair spilling over his shoulders. He was as handsome as ever, rogueishly so, strong and bold and proud. _

_ Amera instantly curtseyed, her hands coming to rest along the stained fabric of her hauberk. The journey had been far from easy and she knew she bore the signs of one who had traveled hard and long. She had hoped she might be allowed a bit of time to bathe and dress before she met with Earnur, but the servant attending to her had insisted he had wished to see her right away. "My king," She said firmly, messied hair falling over her face, "I am honored to have been called here unto-"_

_ "My king?" Earnur laughed and stepped towards her, resting his hands on her shoulders. Her gaze lifted upwards and met his own, grey eyes sparkling with mirth. "You need not call me that, Amera, for even if I bid you do it, I would fear you would disobey my order all the same."_

_ She flushed at that, remembering the anger in his voice as he had spoken to her when she had woken after Fornost, the hurt. Earnur sensed her unease and gently shook his head, lowering his voice and softening his smile as he murmured, "I mean no harm, Amera. You need not worry, old friend. You are welcome here, as always you have been and always you shall be so long as my line sits upon the throne."_

_ Amera nodded and Earnur took a step back, gesturing grandly to the vaulted ceilings of the throne room, the sunlight glittering through stained glass upon the marbled statues and tiles adorning the hall. "What do you think of Minas Tirith, Amera? Of Gondor?"_

_ She smiled at his clear enthusiasm. His passion had not faded since he had assumed his father's throne, that much was certain. He bore the crown well; the steel bright upon his brow. No doubt the people loved him, though Amera suspected more than a few women were heartbroken that he had not yet taken a wife. "It is beautiful," She finally said, smiling faintly now, "More beautiful than I could ever have imagined."_

_ "I am glad to hear it! It is time you left a city preserving the dead for one filled with life and light!"_

_ She bristled at that, but quickly hid her annoyance. It suddenly occurred to her, despite her exhaustion from the journey, that Earnur's joyful mood seemed altogether undeserved, given what the men accompanying her eastward had assumed the reason for her summoning to be. Earnur took note of the confusion that appeared on her features and glanced about the room. He then waved away what few attendants were littered around the throne room, drawing closer to her and lowering his voice in concern. "What is it, Amera?" His piercing gaze searched her face, "Is there something not to your liking? I hope I have not made you uncomfortable."_

_ She shook her head swiftly, flushing furiously. "No! No, my lord," Amera corrected herself as Earnur shot her a friendly, but firm look, "Earnur, I assure you that. I…I just had expected a more, perhaps, well, I had not expected to see you so happy, given all that I have heard, though judging by your greeting and cheer, what I have heard may be wrong."_

_ "Have you met Mardil yet, Amera?"_

_ His blunt question caught her off guard and she shook her head. "No, though the men you sent for me told me he was your Steward."_

_ "Aye, he is. A good man, as good as any," A wide grin stretched upon Earnur's features then, "And a blessed man at that. Tell me, Amera. Have you heard of the Witch-king's return?"_

_ "I had, yes."_

_ "And how he had sought to challenge me after my father's death?"_

_ "Yes."_

_ Earnur glanced over his shoulder then, clearly searching for any remaining servants, much to her confusion. He leaned in close to her a moment later, closer than she had expected, "He has the foresight, Amera, of the Dunedain. The blood of Numenor flows as strongly in him as any of the Dunedain."_

_ "The foresight?" Amera blinked, "I do not understand, Earnur."_

_ "He has seen it," Earnur smirked, his eyes blazing with pride, "He has seen that the Witch-king will challenge me again. Soon, we believe and when he does," He leaned back and the afternoon sun glinted off the steel gilding his brow, "I will accept his challenge, Amera, and this time, this time I will defeat him."_

She fit in well enough with the rest of the Fellowship, Frodo discovered, despite her shyness. Amera had been silent for the bulk of the day, keeping even pace with the group as they trekked across the rocky hills and dry plains of Eregion. She had risen before the rest of them, he had noticed, appearing wide awake as everyone save Legolas yawned and cleaned up the remnants of the camp. He wondered if she required little sleep, like the elves did or so he believed, but he felt such a question too personal as he had only known her for less than a day.

Such concerns, however, did not seem to bother Pippin, as Frodo overheard him beginning to pepper Amera with whatever questions crossed his mind. "So, my lady," He had chirped brightly, offering a warm smile her way, "Do I need to call you my lady? Gandalf calls you Amera, but he seems to know you and I don't, not yet anyway, so what is it I should call you?"

Frodo had stifled a laugh, glancing briefly over his shoulder to see the woman blush faintly. "Amera is how most address me. My lady is not necessary."

"Is that your name, though?" Pippin inquired further, craning his neck to look upwards at her fair face, "Everyone calls you all sorts of things, Elvish I suppose they are."

She was quiet for a moment, adjusting the pack on her back before shrugging and glancing downwards, "No, but I prefer Amera. I'm certain you and your kin from the Shire have your own sorts of titles, family ones perhaps, but you have a name you prefer. I prefer Amera from all that I am called."

"Well," Pippin nodded firmly, "You're more than welcome to call me Pippin if you wish instead of Peregrin. No one particularly calls me that, save Gandalf when he's angry."

Frodo saw she appeared more at ease at that, a smile settling onto her features. "Pippin it shall be then, so long as you call me Amera." They made an interesting pair, walking beside each other in the center of the Company, who were otherwise talking amongst themselves to forget about the rough terrain beneath their feet and the aches in their legs. He was tiny alongside her tall frame, curly hair starkly contrasting the black hair that flowed over her shoulders. It was strange to see her outfitted for traveling, whereas at the Council she had worn a gown of elven make.

She appeared more ready for the road than any of them, save Aragorn perhaps, clothed in a simple leather hauberk over a faded blue robe. Her dark cloak, which had hidden her features only the night before, was slung over her back, a cowl resting loosely around her shoulders. Leather bracers marked her arms, engraved with what he thought were loose trails of leaves, the fingers of her gloves cut off at the knuckles. Frodo caught a glimpse of a metal flashing at her hip and determined such was where she kept the daggers that had saved him alongside her blade. She was outfitted well, dressed in the garb of the elves, and appeared almost like one as Legolas slowed his pace to speak to her softly in his own tongue.

He could not begin to guess what they were saying, though no doubt Aragorn and Gandalf could, but she laughed quietly and gave him a wide smile, clearly more comfortable in his presence than the bulk of the Fellowship. Frodo had heard Gimli and the others speaking of her last night when they had assumed him asleep. He had not quite made his own judgment, not yet, but he found himself recalling the calculated ruthlessness with which Amera had killed the Dunlendings. He was grateful for it, immensely so, but he found himself confused by how gentle she appeared speaking to the other members of the Fellowship, smiling shyly and offering the occasional shrug, when only the night before she had slit a begging man's throat without so much as a pause.

Frodo knew he would have to grow used to such. He was surrounded by some of the most dangerous folk in Middle-earth. Gimli, Legolas, Boromir; they all were some of the most skilled warriors of their race yet when their blades were at their sides or their bows strung over their backs, they were gruff but gentle all the same. Boromir, in particular, had gone out of his way to make the nervous Merry and Pippin more comfortable, and even Aragorn, despite his great skill, more often than not was quiet, reserved. It seemed strange to him, almost contradictory, and he quickly averted his gaze when Amera noticed him staring at her.

The day went on quickly enough and by afternoon Frodo could make out the distant peaks of mountains, their snow-capped tops glittering beneath the bright sun. There was a great distance between them yet, but all the same he felt a surge of accomplishment at being able to see the next stage of the journey. He would not miss the hills of Eregion, he thought as he nearly stumbled over a sharp boulder, so very different from the rolling, grassy lands that formed the Shire.

The sun began to set, cloaking the dry land in faded hues, and he suspected they would soon set up camp for the evening. Sam and Pippin were clearly beginning to lag behind the rest of the company, exhausted from the day's trek. Legolas stopped ahead of him and murmured in his tongue towards Amera, who squinted towards the distance and nodded a moment later. Gandalf overheard their conversation and perked a bushy brow, stopping as well.

"What is it you see, Legolas?"

"There are ruins towards the east," Legolas replied, tilting his head towards a hilltop in the distance, "Perhaps we should rest there for the night."

"Do you think it wise to rest where they may yet be something hiding to surprise us?" Gimli questioned gruffly, folding his hands to rest over the top of his axe, "There's a good chance those ruins are still inhabited."

"From the top of the hill," Amera spoke up softly, much to Frodo's surprise, "We will be able to see for leagues. Anything that might wish us harm, we'll be able to spot far before they reach us. I think it worth at least looking into."

"Does that mean there'll be more walking?" Sam all but wheezed, coming to a rest. Pippin seconded his worry and Gandalf and Aragorn exchanged a glance.

"I would not have us walk further only to find enemies awaiting us," Aragorn said, "The hobbits are exhausted, fairly so, and while the promise of shelter is encouraging, we cannot guarantee it is safe."

"I will go then," Boromir said and everyone turned to glance at him, "To see if it is safe. It is not that great a distance away. Allow me scout it and if it is safe, I will give a signal and you may make your way to me. If I find it occupied, I'll return with a warning." He looked towards a doubled over Pippin, "The hobbits could use a peaceful night's rest. We all could. At least let me attempt to see if the ruins are safe."

Gandalf thought this over a moment, then nodded slowly. "I see no reason why not."

Boromir turned to leave, swinging his shield over his shoulder, but Amera spoke up once more. "Allow me go with him." She swallowed once, clearly aware of everyone's confused gazed. "I know well how to spot signs of life in ruins, to determine if someone dwells in them. It would be unwise to send only one," Amera explained, "Two is a safer number, given that we do not know what might be waiting for us."

"And just what exactly do you know about ruins?" Gimli spoke up, furrowing his brow towards her.

Amera frowned tightly with annoyance, her words cold and crisp. "Because I lived in them, dwarf, and I guarded them."

"An excellent idea!" Gandalf quickly spoke up, stepping between them, "Go on then, the both of you, and keep a wary eye. We don't wish to draw attention to ourselves, after all."

Frodo watched Boromir and Amera trek away, both blending into the quickly growing shadows of evening. Gimli muttered something under his breath and Legolas cast him an icy glare, Pippin slumping over with a loud sigh of relief as the Fellowship came to a rest. Frodo sat down as well, suddenly aware of the painful aches in his legs. Sam came to sit beside him, tilting his chin to the now distant figures of Boromir and Amera. "Do you expect they'll find anything?"

Frodo shrugged, taking a sip of water. "It's hard to say, Sam. They're old ruins, elvish, if I'm not mistaken, but from all I remember they were abandoned long ago. They're ancient."

"Oh, so did Gandalf ever stay in them?" Pippin snickered, earning himself a rap from the wizard's staff.

"They are older even than Gandalf," Aragorn replied softly, nodding towards the hobbit, "Older than most things."

"Older than Legolas and Amera?" Merry questioned, making himself comfortable upon the rocky ground.

Aragorn nodded, glancing towards the shadowed ruins far in the distance, "Yes. They were kept once by the elves, by great craftsmen who studied here and sought what knowledge otherwise eluded them. Great ruin came to them," His face grew somber and he appeared almost aged to Frodo, his wisdom one mournful, "For Sauron himself bore a fair guise and deceived them. The Rings of Power were forged here and from them," He looked away then, his voice growing lower as he busied himself with his pack, "came the doom of many."

He moved more swiftly than she would have imagined, given his proud stature and strong build. Amera looked towards his shield curiously, briefly considering what it would be like to fight with such. Boromir seemed to guess her thoughts, speaking up for the first time since they had left Fellowship's camp, "It is lighter than it appears."

Amera nearly sighed with relief, glad to have him finally address her. "I had assumed so, though I fear I know little of such. I was not trained in weaponry, nor in armor." Boromir said nothing, his sight focused on the ruins steadily growing closer. Amera glanced downwards, her heart sinking. "How fares the White City? Long has it been since last I saw its gates," She attempted, offering a smile.

"Well enough," He replied bluntly, keeping his gaze centered ahead of them.

She was silent then, recognizing Boromir had no intention of making conversation. They approached the ruins quickly enough and she drew in a small breath, crouching down and making herself disappear into the night. It must have been beautiful once, Amera decided as Boromir came to rest beside her, both taking in the sight of the crumbling arches and broken stairways before them. It was smaller than she had expected, but would provide more than enough room for the Fellowship if empty. Balustrades wove around spiraling staircases leading to empty rooms and an abandoned courtyard, ivy and plants decorating what once most have been intricately decorated walls and tiled floors.

Amera was startled to find a pang of sorrow strike her heart at the sight. Her thoughts fled to Annuminas and she wondered how it must look now, after an age of abandonment. Were the walls as crumbled as the ones before her? Had the tombs of the king who's stone visages had both inspired courage and humility fallen into such decay as this? She ran a tongue over her lower lip, her hand trembling lightly even as it moved to the ready aside her sword.

"Amera. _Amera._" Boromir whispered harshly and she was shaken from her reverie, blinking a few times in surprise. "Do you see anything?"

She shook her head, sharp gaze scanning what lay before them carefully for signs of movement. "No, from all I can see, it looks as if it has been long abandoned. Still, we should look closer."

Boromir nodded in agreement, "Search the left side and I'll take the right. Whistle if you come across something."

Amera turned to reply, but he was gone before she could say a word, moving further into the ruins. She sighed heavily then raised her hood to obscure her features. Drawing her blade as a precaution, she began to slowly scout through the ruined staircases and empty courtyards, searching for any signs of life or occupation. All the while, she wondered exactly why Boromir had grown so cold towards her. She was more than aware of his desire to distance himself from her, to interact as only as required of them as members of the same company. Her heart fell as she moved further and further into the ruins, thinking of how friendly, how genuinely warm he had been to her at their first meeting.

That had been before he knew who, what, she was.

She heard a noise to her left and raised her sword without thinking, instantly turning her head to face whatever crept through the shadows. Amera flushed furiously as she saw Boromir staring at her with mild annoyance, the tip of her blade a few inches from his throat. Lowering the sword with the certainty that the icy cordiality with which he had treated her would freeze further after this, she quickly apologized, "I am unused to traveling with others. I…forgive me, I was not thinking."

Much to her surprise, he shrugged and waved a hand of dismissal, surveying the empty dwelling before them, "It is of no matter. I saw nothing, nor signs that we would be unsafe here."

"I saw nothing, as well," She replied, raising her voice from a whisper once he had confirmed they were alone, "Still, this is a sad place. I can feel it. There are memories here, too many." Amera paused. "It is an improvement to the rocky ground, but I will be glad to leave it tomorrow if we choose rest here."

"You are faster than I am, Amera. Perhaps it is best if I wait here on guard while you return to the rest."

She agreed and quickly made her way down the steep hill once more towards the Fellowship's camp. The ruins made her uneasy, made her remember too much, and as she moved towards the rest of the company, Amera was glad, even if for a little bit, to put the cracked balustrades and silent arches behind her.


	13. A Difficult Realization

He dreamed of the Shire, of the rolling hills and green grass. He could feel the warm breeze stir his dark hair, the sunlight gilding the lazy streams coursing their way through the fields and farms. He imagined he could hear children laughing, a distant flute piping a cheerful tune. He smiled, breathing in and taking in what was simply _home. _

However, when a raucous snore from Gimli woke him, the warmth and cheer vanished into the recesses of his memory. Frodo sighed, the cold wind chilling him through his cloak. He rolled over onto his side, desperately seeking to return to his dream, but found it eluded him after a few minutes. He sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes and ignoring a sleepy nudge from Pippin beside him.

It was a beautiful night, aside from the chill, Frodo decided as he shifted to rest on his back. The stairs glittered above him against the outline of crumbling arches and half-hollowed ceilings. It was good to rest against flat ground. Even if it was tiles against his back and not the soft mattress he had rested upon in Bag End, it was better than twisting roots and loose stones.

"Are you cold?" He blinked, sitting up and was surprised to see Amera looking at him placidly from across the abandoned courtyard, "If you are," She gestured behind her, "You are more than welcome to have my cloak. I do not need it."

Frodo shook his head, slowly rising and moving away from his sleeping companions so as not to wake them. "Thank you, but I think I am well enough. It is not so cold up here as it is on the hills."

Amera nodded, "What is left of this place keeps the wind out better than what I had anticipated." She patted a space beside her, atop a small crop of stone tile overlooking the rocky land before them. "Come, sit a moment."

Frodo paused then sat carefully next to her, curious as to the reason for her invitation. "I had thought Gandalf to be on watch for the first part of the evening," He questioned, brow furrowing as he looked over his shoulder to the slumbering wizard.

She gave a little shrug, "I could not sleep and thought I might as well but myself to good use. He seemed happy enough to take his rest and I am more than content to admire the view." Amera was silent for a long moment, a strange, almost mournful look coming into her eyes. "It must have been beautiful once, this place. It is beautiful enough now, an age after its ruin, but once it must have stood proud over this land. I wish I knew its name, but neither Mithrandir nor Legolas know of it, so it seems it will have to remain a mystery."

"It is beautiful," Frodo agreed, "We don't have such places like this in the Shire. We've small homes and small taverns, more comfortable than splendid, I think. We hobbits care more for what is on the table than the roof above it, most of us, anyway."

Amera gave a rare grin at that, her pale eyes sparkling with humor. Seemingly at ease now, she continued quietly, "From all that Pippin told me, it seems a wonderful place. I know little of the elves and even less of the dwarves, but the Kings of the North were a somber folk. Proud and strong, they rarely sought the comforts that it seems your own kindred too." She laughed. "It might have done them some good."

This was a side to her Frodo had never seen and in truth, had not expected. Amera seemed as somber as the Kings she had served and spoke of, but he then remembered the fierce passion that had marked her words at the Council. He had not anticipated humor, however, and certainly not the wit that had worked its way into the faint smirk in the corner of her lips.

She must have taken notice of his consideration, or rather confusion, and the smile disappeared. It was quickly replaced by an almost distant look, a quick bite of the corner of her mouth. "May I speak freely, Frodo?" Amera asked very softly.

He was taken back by the request, blinking once and stammering. "Of course."

She smiled apologetically. "Forgive me, asking such is a habit I'm working to break." Amera brushed back a loose bit of dark hair away from her face and over her ear. Shifting her weight, she focused her flickering gaze on him and stated quietly but firmly. "You need not be afraid of me."

Frodo blushed furiously, lowering his gaze as he remembered how she had caught him staring at her earlier that day and yet again now. Seeing his reaction, she quickly rose a hand and shook her head, "Please, please I mean no insult, Frodo. If you wish to remain wary, I will not blame you, not in the slightest, for you would not be the first to do so. All I mean to say is, you do not _need_ to be afraid of me. I swore an oath," Amera's voice grew firmer now, "To you as Ringbearer. I swear few oaths, Frodo Baggins, for I hold them dearly and do not betray them, and I swore I would protect you with my life. I mean to do so and I will do so, if it is required of me."

Frodo found himself touched by the gentle determination in her words, choosing his own carefully as he responded, "I fear I need to ask your apology, Amera, for I did not mean for you to think I was ungrateful or…or regretted your joining. I," He sighed, glancing downwards briefly as he struggled to form his thoughts, "It confuses me, all of it. Last night, you saved my life and for that I will ever be thankful, but I…, I just-"

"You've never seen someone die," It was more of a question than a statement, "Have you?"

He shook his head and looked upwards. Frodo saw pity in Amera's eyes and there also regret. "No. Never." A pause. "That man begged for his life, Amera, and you did not flinch when you killed him. Yet, here we are, here you are. It doesn't seem to me, not now anyway, that you could hurt anything, much less kill as fiercely as you did. I could not have killed him, not if I had been the one he looked at and the one holding the blade." He sighed in frustration, certain she would take his careless words as insult when he had not meant them to be.

"It says much of you, Frodo Baggins," Amera suggested gently, "That you would considering showing mercy unto your enemies. Few would." Her fingers moved to tug lightly on her wavy hair as she considered what he had said, finally looking back to him. "If I had let the Dunlending go, Frodo, he might have returned to his kindred, to his village. He might have spoken of three little folk who he had seen, wandering Eregion. Many of his folk are in league with Saruman, who is as great a threat as any we face, and perhaps Saruman would have heard of the Fellowship's route and sent those who serve him to find us. Or, perhaps, he might have gone directly to his master and speak of those he encountered in the wild. Saruman is cunning and could all too easily guess at what it is you carry. We are already perilously close to Isengard as it is and may draw closer still." She ran a tongue over her lower lip. "If I had let him go, Frodo, the risk would have been far too great, to you and to the Fellowship. I take no joy in killing and the day I do is the day I sheathe my sword for good, but what we, what _you_ are doing, Frodo, is not easy. I do not think it ever shall be."

He was silent at that. Looking out over the rocky hills of Eregion, Frodo wondered how far it was to Rivendell. There, somewhere in the distance, was Bilbo. There was a good chance his uncle would be asleep by now, lulled to slumber by good wine and mirthful conversation with the elves he so loved, but there was a greater chance he was yet awake, pouring over some ancient text that had piqued his curiosity. And beyond that, beyond the forests and streams and plains, was the Shire, was _home_. For the first time, Frodo wondered if he would ever see it again.

"But I am glad is it you," Frodo glanced up, surprised to see a faint smile on Amera's fair face, "I am glad you are the Ringbearer, Frodo. There is much that works against us, but your choice, you as the Ringbearer, such gives hope."

He found himself smiling in return, despite the sorrow that suddenly plagued his heart, the great weight that burdened his shoulders, "I am glad you joined the Fellowship, Amera. I am glad you are here."

She seemed touched by that, her eyes growing soft, and it then occurred to Frodo that, this, perhaps was one of the few, if not the first time, Amera had ever been told such. He returned to bed a few minutes later and as he crawled beneath his cloak, the last thing he saw before he gave into sleep was Amera sitting alone amid the ruins, her dark hair streaming over her shoulders and blending with the dark sky above.

_Thunk. _Amera cursed under her breath a moment later. The arrow had struck the target, certainly an improvement from an hour earlier, but was still too far from the center for her contentment. She lowered the bow with a sigh, feeling the tension of the string in her fingers.

"That was better, Amera," Legolas smiled at her side, "But you flinched at the last second. Keep your gaze straight and unyielding and the arrow will follow the path." He fluidly drew an arrow of his own from the collection strung over his back, pulling with his bowstring with fluid grace. His arrow soared through the air after but a pause to aim, striking the center of the target with a resounding thud. "See?" Legolas said cheerfully, "The last moment is the most important. It will direct the arrow."

Amera found herself growing increasingly annoyed with Legolas' seemingly unquenchable brightness when it came to archery, a skill he had mastered better than any she had ever seen. In contrast, she had never truly held a bow, not until Aragorn had handed her his own an hour ago and suggested she practice a bit with it. Legolas had eagerly offered to teach her and much to her embarrassment, it seemed the Fellowship had found a new source of entertainment while they rested for the evening. The day had gone by quickly enough, their pace increasing as each grew more accustomed to traveling, and when they had stopped for the night, the ruins they had rested prior were far gone from sight.

Now, as everyone had gathered rather and half-watched her attempt to grow more comfortable with a bow, they had something to look at besides the distant mountains while they ate. Amera had quickly felt that she had something to prove as she felt Gimli's gaze upon her. It frustrated her immensely, his seeming dislike of her, though she could see no real reason for it. He respected Aragorn's opinion too much, however, to openly criticize her, and instead kept his distain to quick, sly comments that sunk beneath her skin and made her bristle with anger.

Setting her sights back on the target that Aragorn had carved into a small tree ahead of her, she raised the bow and pulled back the bowstring tight. "Steady gaze, Amera," Legolas murmured encouragingly, "Don't flinch when you release the arrow."

The arrow cut through the air and finished its path closer to, but still a distance from the target. Amera sighed, running a tongue over her lip as she lowered the bow. Pippin clapped loudly for her.

"You are doing well," Aragorn offered quietly, "Better than most, Amera. Skill with a bow does not come quickly. It takes time and practice, of which you have had little."

"Still," Gimli stated dryly, "She'll be needing a lot more practice before that arrow does any sort of damage."

Amera stiffened at that, eyes briefly lighting up with anger as she glanced towards Gimli. "A thousand years of _doing nothing at all _tends to leave one a bit out of practice, especially given that I've never so much as held a bow before."

He huffed at that, taking a drag from his pipe. Aragorn rested a calming hand on her shoulder, recognizing her rising frustration. "Try again, Amera," He urged, "You already have improved greatly in what little time you've been practicing. You should be proud of how far you've come."

"But still not far enough, it seems," She replied, slipping into Sindarin before turning to face the target. Amera raised the bow again, focusing intently. She centered her will on nothing but the arrow before her, utterly still save the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Pulling the bowstring back taught, Amera felt the trembling tension in her fingers, moving through her arm to her shoulder. The bow was powerful, _she _was powerful and as she moved to release string, it seemed she was the arrow, was the-

Her focus was broken as Gimli commented loudly, "I fail to see how mastery with a bow is of any sort of use if it takes this long to release a single arrow." Her arrow flew wildly off centered, missing the target and embedding itself in the tree bark. "Perhaps the elves are more patient," He continued with a roll of his eyes, "With their weapons, but that lass needs something quicker than a bow if she's to take that long."

Legolas practically snarled and was quickly held back by Aragorn, though he did not move swiftly enough to hold back Amera. Blazing with anger, she fluidly reached out without thinking and drew one of Legolas' twin daggers from their sheathe on the rock beside them. Her slender fingers firmly grasped their delicate hilt and before anyone could so much as blink, she hurled it with deadly precision through the air. Legolas' arrow at the center of the target split with a mighty crack, the dagger trembling as everyone was utterly silent.

"I can fight, dwarf," She growled fiercely, turning to face him, "Whether or not you judge me by the merits of your own race, I have fought and I can fight! My blade was given to me by a _king_, forged by the elves for no less than a warrior and I was taught how to wield it by Earnur of Gondor and Glorfindel of Imladris. I have seen battle and I have seen war and I have killed to defend that which I love." Amera shook her head once, her flickering eyes bright with anger and passion. "You may think me weak and unworthy of this Fellowship, but all the same I am honored of the Free Peoples of Middle-earth." She gestured loosely to his axe. "If you doubt that I can fight, fight me then! Go on! Do not presume me weak, Gimli son of Gloin, for I am _not_."

Gimli could only blink, utterly caught off guard by her fiercesome outburst. Drawing in a slow breath, startled herself by the fury in her words, Amera saw Sam's jaw had completely dropped and Pippin sat stunned. Much to her surprise, however, she saw a glimmer of pride in Mithrandir's gaze as he nodded once to her in approval. She swallowed hard, setting her jaw firmly as she looked once more to the dwarf, her voice quieting but not softening, "If I must prove myself to you in order to be viewed as a valued member of the this company, I will do it, though unwillingly for I see no reason why I must."

He remained silent for a long time, the rest of the Fellowship waiting and watching to see what his reply would be. "No, lass," Gimli finally said, "I don't think that'll be necessary." Their gazes met and she saw something like admiration in his eyes. "You have my apology."

"Thank you," Amera stammered out, astonished. "I am glad for it."

Gimli's ruddy face suddenly flushed as he became aware of the other members of the group watching them both. "Go on then!" He waved a hand, "Nothing to see here! Just solving a bit of a disagreement!"

Not risking to provoke Gimli's anger, the hobbits wandered off and everyone returned to their own business. Returning Aragorn his bow, Amera ran a hand through her hair and thanked both him and Legolas quietly. Eager to cast attention of herself, she moved to sit alone for a bit, but Gimli blocked her path. "It uh," He attempted weakly, not meeting her gaze, "It seems you're not an elf, Amera, nor like them all that much."

In that moment, she finally understood why Gimli had been so distrustful. He thought her an elf, or at least far too similar to one for his liking, in her quietness and reservation and grace. Already there was Legolas and then, to him, another ally of the firstborn had joined the Fellowship. The dwarf was not the first to mistake her for an elf and she suspected he would not be the last. She was something else, something unique, and for that, many had attempted to label her that which she was not. "No," She said quietly, "I am not one of the firstborn."

"Aye, and I'm sorry for," He shifted his weight, "For not be as altogether welcomin' of you as I should have been."

"It's alright." Amera offered a faint smile, hoping to make peace.

"Ah, well," He flushed again, "Glad to hear it." Gimli quickly moved away, clearly embarrassed.

Amera sighed in relief, sitting down and tying the laces of her boots as she took time to gather her thoughts. However, she was surprised to feel another gaze on her and looked up in confusion. Her eyes briefly met Boromir's and further to her shock, he offered her the slightest of smiles before moving to speak to Aragorn. She considered it for a moment, watching him leave, before returning to her own work. She had determined why Gimli had been so uneager to see her in the Fellowship and was occasionally rude because of it, but she still could not guess at why Boromir had grown so cold towards her. She sighed again. The reservation of the Steward's son bothered her far more than Gimli's snarky remarks. It had taken an decidedly unelven outburst of fury had been enough to convince the dwarf that she belonged here, but Amera suspected that guessing at the cause of Boromir's distance would be far trickier.

Well, she thought with a glimmer of dark humor, at least she had until Mordor to determine it.


End file.
